The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock
by schroederplayspiano
Summary: Moments in time with Emma and August...
1. Like Ships In The Night

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Six pm: Like Ships In The Night_

Wednesday nights are my favorite nights of the week. For most kids, Friday nights are the nights they look forward to most. Usually, Fridays are when TV is allowed or simply because the night means no more school for the two whole days.

But, I like school, its hard not to when your Grandmother is your teacher. I'd rather spend Friday nights playing games with my family or trying to beat another level on my video game if my mom and her newly awaken parents need some bonding time of their own.

I have been looking forward to tonight since last Thursday when my mother asked me if Pinocchio could join us on our special outing. I like Pinocchio. He was a key member in Operation Cobra before the curse broke and now is just as important in helping its members stay positive when it seems all hope of going to Fairytale Land is lost.

"I still say we should go back." Pinocchio notes for the fourth time since we left the house.

"We are not going back," I tell him. "I am fine and will be fine. Thank you."

"Henry," Mom stops walking, causing Pinocchio and me to do the same. "I think August is right. If you are not cold now, you will be when we go back."

How many times do I have to tell them before they believe me? While on a smaller scale, this moment reminds me of all those times people did not believe me about the curse.

I, Henry, am not cold and will not be cold at the end of the night, no matter where we're going.

"We're almost there." I inform them. There's a bounce in my step and I remember how excited I am. "There's no point in going back now."

My Mom steps in front of me. "Henry." She crosses her arms, disappointed. "How could you forget your coat?"

"It was hot all day. It only got cold five minutes ago."

"Aha!" Pinocchio exclaims with a smile. "So you do admit you're cold!"

I look up at him and see his smile. I can tell he's not going to make me run all the way back home for a coat.

Plus it's not that cold out. Honest.

We turn the corner. I see our destination in sight. Its lit-up sign welcomes me in.

I elbow Pinocchio in the ribs. "Race ya?"

He looks down at me, determination on his face. "You're on!"

"On Three..." I tell him. We both put our feet on a line in the sidewalk.

"Guys-" Mom warns, but we ignore her.

"One." Pinocchio starts. He bends down so he can have a better start. "Two."

"Three!" I yell, pushing him down before running ahead.

"Hey!" He yells as he runs to catch up with me.

I am almost at the finish point when I see Pinocchio out of the corner of my eye. I try to speed up when see him catching up with me. I am running harder and harder, but soon know I will be passed.

Pinocchio runs passed the shop door, turning around only after he has realized he passed it, to watch me sprinting to the door.

I put my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

"I won." Pinocchio brags.

"You're selfish," I retort.

I begin to regret my words when a hurt expression emerges on his face, but soon he smiles.

"Yeah, well," He crosses his arms. "You cheated at the start. So, we're even."

I think about his words and then surrender. "Fine."

Pinocchio chuckles. "Good."

Mom walks up quickly behind us. She puts her hand on Pinocchio's back. "You know, you're supposed to let the kid win."

An ashamed look comes to Pinocchio.

Quickly, I say, "No he's not. He's just not supposed to brag about it."

Shocked, Mom playfully hits him on the shoulder. "You bragged about it?"

"No!" Pinocchio lies.

Mom and I give him disapprovingly glares. He avoids them by motioning inside.

"Can we just get our ice cream now?"

I forget what we were talking about.

As Pinocchio opens the door for us, I hear Mom exclaim, "Two boys! I am hanging out with two immature boys!"

"We are not immature." Pinocchio defends us. "We are just behaving like normal men would behave."

"Right." Mom says sarcastically. "Normal Men."

I think she says something else, but I don't hear her. The ice cream choices take all my attention.

"Hi Henry."

I don't need to look up to know the owner of the voice. It's also the owner of the ice cream store. "Hi Goofy."

Still staring at the different flavors, undecided, Goofy asks me. "What is your favorite flavor tonight, Henry?"'

Yes. I'll admit it. I change my favorite ice cream flavor often. There's no shame in that, thank you very much.

"Oh!" Mom bends down, places on hand around my chest while the other points to the strawberry bucket. "You changed your favorite again. No more strawberry, huh kid?"

"There's nothing wrong with strawberry." I defend last week's choice.

"Nothing at all." I look up again to see Pinocchio's face. "It's good. It's just very - very pink."

Mom releases me to address Pinocchio. He reaches out and holds Mom's arms. I return to the glass to choose my new favorite flavor.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with pink, Emma." I hear Pinocchio's voice. "I was just defending Henry's choice to pick a new flavor."

Goofy mimics my position, bending down and starring at me through the glass. When I realize what he's doing, I met his eyes. We both burst out laughing at the same time.

It's very hard not to like Goofy.

"Pick the new Marshmallow baseball flavor." He tells me. "It's new."

"Marshmallow baseball?" I say, almost disgusted.

"Gawrsh, Henry." Goofy exclaims. "You don't have to say it like that. It's vanilla and marshmallows with cherry syrup magically enhances to look like a baseball. You should try it."

"I don't like sports."

Goofy pounds both his fist on the glass, causing it to shake a little. "Don't like sports! Gawrsh! How can anybody not like sports?"

I shrug. Finally the mint chocolate chip calls to me. "I'll have mint chocolate chip in a cone, please."

He smiles approvingly through his pursed lips. "Good choice, Henry."

Goofy starts for the scooper and the cone, but I stop him with "Wait!"

He puts his hands down the cone. "Changed your mind already, Henry."

No. I just remembered how careless he is with ice cream. With any luck, the ice cream will only be spilling over one side of the cone.

"Is max here?" I ask him. His son is so much better scooping ice cream, despite his young age.

"Henry," Goofy picks up the cone again. Moving deeper into the freezer, he says, "I am not going to spill your ice cream, okay? I promise."

I wonder if people would give Goofy grief if his moral story was like the one of the man standing next to me.

When Goofy hands me my cone, which of course starts tilting over as soon as its in my hand, Mom tells him her order of strawberry followed by Pinocchio's order of Goofy's new flavor.

The three of us pick a table near the window. Before my ice cream falls completely over (Mom brought over a cup just in case), I start licking it quickly.

"I can't believe you actually ordered Marshmallow Baseball." Mom tells Pinocchio.

"What?" Pinocchio looks at her funny. "I like baseball. And it's good."

"You." Mom emphasizes the word. "Like baseball?"

Pinocchio puts on a hurt face. "How can you not like baseball? You lived in Boston."

"So!" Mom starts. "Lots of people live in Boston and don't like baseball or the Red Sox."

"Yeah," He smiles and leans over to kiss mom's cheek. "Freaks."

I smile automatically. Maybe I shouldn't, but I can tell Pinocchio is kidding around by the look on his face.

Mom tries to hide when she rolls her eyes at him, but I see her do it.

When I finished the cone's contents, I start licking off the rest of the dripping ice cream off the sides.

"Are you cold yet, Henry?" Pinocchio asks me with a knowing smile.

I smile. "Nope."

I told them I wouldn't be cold and I don't plan on changing my plan now.

"That's because we're inside." Mom points through the window, "The second we leave, you'll have shivers sent down your spine.

"No I won't. If I do, I'll owe you a dollar out of my allowance." Yes, that is how confident I am that the ice cream will not make me cold.

I expected my offer to excite Mom. I wait for her reaction, but never see it. It then I notice how her whole body has frozen as she continues to stare at the window.

"Mom?" I try to distract her from whatever is bothering her, but can't.

"Emma?" Pinocchio puts his hand over Mom's. "What's wrong?"

When she doesn't answer us, I stop looking at her and follow her gaze to where she's staring.

There is a dark haired, older man frozen midstep. His eyes are locked with mom's and they both have a scared expression on their faces.

Is this man a new stranger in town? I've never seen him before. For a second, I wonder if Emma's breaking of the curse allows outsiders into Storybrooke. Thinking over the last couple months, though, no one new has come to town.

At least no one new that I've heard about.

Mom and the older man are frozen for one more moment before the man starts walking forward again. I know they know each other from mom's shaken expression. I wonder if he is simply a man who's given Mom a hard time during her time in Storybrooke and she just didn't tell me about it.

"Excuse me." Mom says, eying the door.

No! She can't go! I need to know about the new town's stranger.

Mom stands and Pinocchio follows her action. "Wait, Emma. Who was that?"

His question confirms any doubts I still had about the older man being new to town.

Before Mom can answer, however, the front bell rings signaling a new customer in the ice cream shop.

It's the older man!

Without hesitation, he approaches our table. I look at mom, intending it to be brief, but when I see fear behind her eyes, I become scared as well.

Especially after Mom reaches for my hand under the table.

I stay seated, frozen in my position like Mom and Pinocchio.

The stranger stops inches from Mom's face. "Emma Swan." His voice is cold. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Mom's voice is foreign to me when she speaks to him. She squeezes my hand and I match her intensity.

Then the man crouches down to address me. Our eyes meet and I hope I am sending daggers through mine. Anything to hurt the man that made Mom scared.

When I actually look into his eyes, however, I know I'm not sending out daggers anymore. There's something familiar about his eyes. I don't know what it is, but it's almost like I've been looking at them my whole life.

"Stop it!" Mom yells at the man. She grabs his shirt collar and flings the stranger back from me a few feet.

Mom lets go of my hand to approach the man. Pinocchio picks up my fallen hand as soon as Mom releases it.

The man laughs when Mom stands in front of him. When he looks down to look at me again, Mom slaps him across the face.

"Get the hell out of here." Mom tells him.

"See. Here's my problem with that." The man says with a smile. "You can't tell me that anymore." He motions behind the cashier's counter. "I don't think you actually work here."

"No." Mom's voice is firm. "Get out of this town. You don't belong here."

I think about Mom's words. I think the very fact that he was able to cross the town boundary probably means he does belong here. Unfortunately.

"Who are you to tell me don't belong here. This isn't your town, Emma."

"Actually." Mom says with a mixture of pride and anger. "It is."

"Oh? Really!" The man laughs.

"What the hell are doing here, Bae?"

"I'm getting ice cream." He says, but know that's not all he's here for.

He looks at me again, a sinister smile appears on his face.

And then, the shivers start going down my spine.

* * *

A/N: Here's to another fun ride on the Emma and August roller coaster!


	2. You Keep Passing Me By

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Six am: You Keep Passing Me By_

Anna's screams propel me out of bed. I have been awake for hours, though, trying to go back to sleep since the last time my daughter woke me up, but knew quickly my attempt would be pointless.

I walk over to Anna's crib, lift her up in my arms, and kiss her hair. Thankfully, that's enough to quiet her down. I can't help but smile anytime she's asleep in my arms. The feeling of holding my baby daughter is unmatched, even here, in newly rediscovered Fairytale Land.

Deciding hours ago that I wouldn't be going back to sleep, my sleepy eyes find a rocking chair in the corner of the bedroom. Anna shifts in her sleep when I lean back against the cushioned chair, adjusting her soft hold on me.

The morning's first light breaks through the window. The rays beam past the bed, illuminating August's sleeping figure. He becomes more innocent when he sleeps, less hot and more adorable – at least, that's what I like to think.

August turns over unconsciously. I redirect my attention back to our daughter, enjoying the early morning peace. I smile for a different reason when I lightly push off the floor, giving the rocker a little more power. It's the same reason I couldn't drift back to sleep hours ago.

I have been waiting for today for four days. Four days might seem like nothing. Before coming to Storybrooke, before learning I was the offspring of the most famous couple in the world; four days went by like a blink of an eye. But now, all I can do is count the seconds until I can see him again.

A wooden swan loudly comes out of Mom's carved wood castle marking the time as six thirty. As the swan spreads its wings over the kingdom, protecting it, a puppet chases a girl around the castle, trying to catch her in his arms, but never does. The beautiful cuckoo clock was a present from Geppetto on my twenty-ninth birthday. I have kept it on my bedside table ever since.

The swan's obnoxious noise forces August awake. I hear him padding the bed, trying to feel for me, before flipping over to spot his daughter and me on the rocking chair.

He smiles warmly, keeping his head on his pillow, watching us. For a moment, I meet his gaze and smile before leaning my head closer to Anna.

With a sleepy voice, August informs me, "You know if the baby is sleeping, the mother should be too."

I smile and look back at him. "I couldn't sleep."

"Huh," He lets out before standing from the bed to kiss his daughter's head. I wish he would give me a kiss as well, but he is inches away from me before I can even lean into him. "I wonder why," August comments sarcastically.

I sigh after his comment. I know he says his words teasingly, but I hear their edgy undertone. Four years have passed since we first argued over this topic. It makes me sad; even now, that we can't completely move pass the hurt it has caused both of us.

"I can't help it." I move my index finger under Anna's whole fist. "I miss him."

"I know you do," he whispers. Careful not to wake Anna, August opens his dresser slowly, and starts choosing his clothes for the day. "But after all this time, I'd hope it wouldn't affect you so much."

"How could it not affect me, Pinocchio?" I say harshly. "I will never have him to myself. I will always have to share him with somebody else."

"That's what parenting is, Emma." The drawer shuts loudly, causing Anna to start crying again. "Sharing your kids with somebody else."

How can he, out of all people, lecture me about being selfish? He is Pinocchio, traditionally the most selfish fairytale character of them all.

I shoot August an annoyed glance as I try to calm Anna down. Instead of helping me, he turns his back. I watch him button his shirt and pull on his pants, as I softly bounce Anna in my arms.

When he turns, completely dressed, his expression has changed. I know he's sorry by the remorseful look on his face. Still he says, "Sorry," and reaches out to take his daughter in his arms.

After a moment's hesitation, I give Anna to him, and she quickly adjusts to her father's touch. August tries to reach out to me, but I walk past him, eyeing the closet.

My fingers glide along the dresses' fabric. It is harder than usual to choose one to wear today. I turn back to the opposite side of the room, to my dresser, wondering if I can walk down to court for breakfast in jeans.

Probably not.

"Wear the green one." August says lovingly. I look at him when I hear his tone. "It's simple, yet elegant. You said it's the most comfortable. Plus, you look beautiful in it, it brings out your eyes."

I can't help the smile creeping onto my face. I don't know if he's still regretful about snapping at me a minute ago or if he's just trying to save me from the stress of picking out a dress, but either way it's nice.

I take the green dress from the closet and place it on the bed. My smile is still on my face when I say, "I didn't think you were listening."

His soft expression reaches out to me. "Of course I was." I take off my nightgown in silence and I know he's watching me closely. "It's hard not to remember how much you love that dress, especially since you complain about all the others."

The dress is untied when I playfully charge at him. August steps back with Anna as I come closer. August laughs when softly hit his shoulder. "Whoa. Okay. Maybe we can save the rough play when I don't have our daughter in my arms."

I love when he calls Anna our daughter.

"The dresses aren't that bad."

August overacts, searching the room for something or someone who isn't in the room.

I finally concede. "What?" I ask, annoyed.

"You know, I don't think your mom is here." He says. I roll my eyes and go back to dressing. "Which means you don't have to suck up and lie, saying you love all the dresses she made for you."

I finish tying my dress, wrapping the ribbon from the front to the back. "I don't lie. They're all beautiful dresses. She knows I don't love to wear them. It's only a requirement at court. After all this time here, they've grown on me."

August kisses my cheek, which surprises me, I didn't know he was that close. Our noses touch when I turn to him.

He looks at me deeply, causing my eyebrows to furrow. What's going on?

Running his free hand through strands of my hair, he says, "Many things have grown on you." I blush at his words, his intense glare, and the meaning behind them. "You're the one who makes the dresses beautiful."

I smile at him, my blush conveying my gratitude. August smiles back quickly before returning his full attention to Anna, bouncing her lighting in his arms.

The mirror calls to me when a tangle in my hair falls in front of my shoulder. As I am brushing it out, I spot the cuckoo clock in the mirror.

6:45.

I can't help blurting out my thoughts. "If he's not here in fifteen minutes, I'm going out to find him."

"He'll be here," August says simply. "Belle always brings him on time."

That's true. She does. I'm grateful she does me the favor of walking him over, since she's the only member of their family welcomed at court.

The court rules are only an added bonus, making my run ins with Baelfire less frequent.

"So," August walks closer to me. "Shall we?"

I don't want to go to breakfast. Not yet. I look back at the cuckoo clock.

6:46.

"Can't we wait?" My facial features plead with him.

"Emma," he starts half jokingly, half seriously. "We've started breakfast without him before. He doesn't mind. Bae gives him a morning snack before the journey anyways."

"Sometimes." I correct August. "Bae sometimes gives him a snack. Not all the time."

"He's fifteen years old. I'm pretty sure he can ask for food if he wants some. Or make some himself."

"I know how old my kid is." I walk over to take Anna from him. A smile automatically forms on my face when she's in my arms. I look down at her beautiful blue eyes, which are now intrigued with the sleeve of my dress. I look around the room, and then examine myself in the mirror. With nothing left to do, I finally announce, "Let's go."

Anna is quiet in the hallway, making our walk much more enjoyable. Between the cobblestones and the high ceiling, her cries can give me a headache before I've even started my day.

"Anna!" Dad's voice echoes in the hallway as we approach the dining room. When he sees us, he starts jogging towards us.

I turn to August. Our eyes meet and I know he knows what I'm thinking. Still, I whisper it anyway. "No 'hi Emma' or 'good morning.'" August smiles. "No, it's all about the baby."

When Dad reaches us, he pulls Anna from my arms without asking. Sometimes his habit annoys me, other times I think it's sweet.

"Good morning, Dad."

Dad lifts his gaze from Anna to me. He smiles, "Good morning, sweetie." He kisses my cheek. "Breakfast is on the table."

"Great." August says. He shoots one more look at Anna, making sure she's safe in Dad's arms. Before entering the dining room, he kisses my cheek.

I don't follow him though. Instead, I stay in the hall with my daughter looking out one of the large hall windows.

"He'll be here soon, Emma." Dad says.

I smile slightly. "Reading my mind already this morning?"

Dad steps closer to me. A sad smile appears on his face as we make eye contact. "No. I just know the agony of not knowing if your kid is safe."

My fingers taps on the window ceil. I turn from Dad to look outside. When I don't see anything I fling a pebble that was sitting on the edge of the window out.

"I never should have made that deal."

"Emma," Dad begs me to calm down. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know what you were getting into. You didn't know who he was. You were doing it to save Alexandra and Cinderella. How could you have possibly known or guessed he would take Henry from you?"

"I don't know." I look back at him. "But I should have."

"You're the savior." Dad reminds me softly. "Not some omniscient god."

For some reason, his words fill me with sadness.

He must see the frown on my face, because he pulls me closer to him. "Oh my love." He kisses my hair. "It's not that bad. I promise you."

"You promise me?"

"Yes." Dad says confidently. "I promise you."

And then I hear the kingdom's clock tower ring out.

Seven o'clock.

"Henry?" I look up and down the hall. "Henry?"

August hears my worried voice. He's out in the hall by time I call Henry's name the third time.

He's running down the hall, to the palace's entrance before I am. I run as quickly as I can in my dress to catch up with him.

Grumpy opens the palace doors as soon as he sees us. Together, we run outside to search for my kid.

"Mom!"

Relief flows over me when I see him. He's safe. He's okay. He's smiling.

"Kid!"

We run to each other and meet in the middle of the courtyard. Our arms wrap around each other simultaneously.

I spot Belle as I hold Henry to me. She stands at the courtyard's entrance, and doesn't take a step further. I smile at her in gratitude and Belle puts her palm up with a smile in response.

And then she's gone.

I pull back to look at him. My fingers caress his cheeks. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Henry smiles. "I'm fine."

I smile, brushing the hair off his forehead.

And that's when I see it.

The cut near his eyebrow.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the positive responses - including favorites and follows! They mean so much, really. I wonder what time period/POV will be next ;)!


	3. Just Wasting Time

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Nine pm: Just Wasting Time_

"That is not what happened!" Pinocchio's voice breaks through the uproar in living room while I refill water glasses before returning them to our guests.

"Of course that's what happened," I hear my daughter say between fits of laughter.

This particular sound out of Emma is still new to me. She suppresses her uncontrollable laughter when he isn't here, not allowing herself to be truly free when we're alone. Even though tonight is not the first time I've observed her restraint of showing different sides of herself, it still pains me the same.

I bring the tray of water glass through to the crowded room and place them on the coffee table. Geppetto reaches for two, handing one to Jiminy Cricket as he sits back on the sofa. Instead of taking a glass of water, my daughter continues to sip her wine. I don't know how I feel about her choice. After looking at the white liquid in her glass for a moment too long, I turn away.

Charming and Henry are sitting on the floor, munching on cookies Henry and I made yesterday after school. Henry is so glued to the story, it is hard not to watch him rather than listening to Pinocchio's words. It is part of the reason I left the room to refill glasses that didn't particularly need refilling.

It's always bittersweet to listen to stories taking place outside of home and Storybrooke.

"How do you know Emma?" Pinocchio asks with a smile. "You weren't even there."

"I know because I know you…And I know you would want any taste of home you could create."

"Wait, wait, wait." Jiminy Cricket slows down the conversation. "How does your friend - or anybody dress up like me – Like Jiminy Cricket?"

"Disney sells the costume – or crazy mothers can make them themselves, if they have the time." Emma informs the room.

"With my umbrella?" Jiminy Cricket's uncomfortable gaze darts between Emma and Pinocchio.

"Not your umbrella…" Pinocchio tells him. "But an umbrella."

Geppetto inches forward on the couch to address his son more directly. "But how could anybody tell you your were an unconvincing Pinocchio?"

My daughter puts down her glass of wine, flops back on couch closer to Pinocchio, and quickly nudges his shoulder. "I tell him that all the time, so it's not that hard to believe."

"Really?" Charming interjects. Charming's whole face lights up when he's allowed a glimpse into Emma's interactions with Pinocchio during their moments alone. For us, their comments about each other allow us to get to know our daughter better.

"All." Pinocchio emphasizes each of his words. "The. Time."

"You need to hear it." Emma states. "It would actually make my life more interesting if your lying skills improved."

"Huh," Pinocchio retorts. "I'll remember that."

Only someone who was looking really closely at my daughter could see the hint of regret of her words on her face.

"Just once?" Henry tries to clarify. "You only dressed up on Halloween as Pinocchio once."

Pinocchio leans down to Henry on the floor. "Yes." He answers in a serious, moody tone.

"But why?" Henry lightly inquires again.

Emma laughs, leaning in to her son as well. "Because he didn't want people telling him he sucked at playing his own character."

"Hey!" Pinocchio nudges Emma this time, causing her to lean over the arm of the couch.

Emma turns and looks back at him seriously. "Well, then, tell me it's not true."

For some reason, he picks my eyes to look at when he speaks. "It's not true." He tells the room. "I grew out of my clothes from home."

I smile at him. That makes sense.

"See." Emma readjusts her position on the couch, now further away from Pinocchio, which I am honestly more comfortable with. "Such a bad liar."

"What?" I blurt out my thought.

Emma turns to me. Our eyes lock on one another. "He turned to you, looked into your eyes, and lied." Emma shrugs, but I'm still perplexed. "If he had been telling the truth, he would have told it straight to my face." Emma explains to me and then repeats. "Such a bad liar."

"Pinocchio!" Geppetto and Jiminy cry out, astonished.

When Pinocchio's expression turns innocent, then I know that he did, in fact, lie. I would have no idea if Emma didn't say anything.

I feel so foolish.

"I did not lie." Pinocchio lies again. "I really did grow out of my clothes by the next Halloween."

"Yes, but, that's not why you didn't choose to wear your Pinocchio clothes the next year." Henry observes.

Emma's only response is to laugh.

The noise is heaven.

"Oh!" Pinocchio is suddenly frustrated with Emma. I glance back and forth between them, trying to figure out what just happened, but am once again clueless. "Now you're just flaunting your superpowers."

The two of them make eye contact. "August." Emma says seriously. "They are there to be flaunted. I mean," I barely notice the twinkle in my daughter's eye since she is so focus on the man next to her. But, it's there and that's how I know Emma is kidding around. "Why else would we be together?'

I smile at her light-hearted comment. There are many "ooo"s shared around the room.

Pinocchio shakes his head back and forth, trying to ignore the taunting while he leans forward to take a glass from my tray. He returns to Emma's after he's taken a sip and I notice their comfortableness with each other and their nonverbal communication.

Their relationship seems so different than Charming's and mine. I can't quite place the reason, but it's there and I wonder if I'm the only one who sees it. Part of me wonders if it's their bond of growing up outside Storybrooke and outside of home pulls them together and influences how they relate to each other.

But I try not to think about it. While I would never admit it to Emma, it took a long time for me to be okay with Pinocchio in her life. Looking past the major issues I have with him, like the fact he took my place in the wardrobe and didn't stay to protect my baby daughter, the little comments or interactions I see tonight still cause me heartache.

He will always have a bond with my daughter that I will never understand.

"Well, on that note," Pinocchio side-glances at Emma nervously and I wonder why. "We have an announcement to make."

An announcement? Why don't I like the sound of that?

Especially when I see the blush creeping into my daughter's cheeks.

I watch Emma closely as she reaches for him, resting her chin on his shoulder with a nervous smile. I lean closer to the pair of them to hear Emma whisper, "Now?" in his ear.

Pinocchio squeezes her hand. Since his face is in my direction, I am able to hear his response, "We agreed to tell them tonight…unless you're changed your mind."

Emma shakes her head. "Never."

After weeks of tiptoeing around the subject, I know in my gut what they are announcing, but I still hold my breath and my emotions until I heard the actual words.

For a moment, Emma and Pinocchio stare at each other, smiling, and I can see how happy they are. After all the pain and suffering my daughter has gone through, most of which I can only guess at, it is nice to see she's found someone who makes her so happy.

"We know there has been a lot of gossip about us," Emma starts.

"Between our two families and throughout Storybrooke, and-" Pinocchio continues.

"And we did finally come to a decision."

"Not lightly," Pinocchio says with a little more seriousness in his tone. "Not without considering all of our options-"

"And what was best for us-" Emma adds.

With a deep breath and a final glance at Emma, Pinocchio states, "We have decided to-"

"Get married!" Henry yells out before Pinocchio can finish.

Cries of happiness and congratulations fill the room before Pinocchio or Emma has a chance to confirm Henry's words.

Their verbal confirmation is unnecessary, though, because their smiles confirm the news. Everyone reaches for the engaged couple, Charming shakes hands and hugging Pinocchio while Geppetto wraps his arms around Emma.

I stand to join the celebration and Charming hands Pinocchio to me. He leans down to kiss my cheek; I can't help but give him one as well, before we end up in a hug.

It takes a while for the excitement to settle down. Each member of the two families reaches out to each other for a hug or a kiss, or sometimes both. I smile when Geppetto approaches me for a hug. I remember how I felt about him several months ago, almost a year now actually, when I learned of Pinocchio's replacement of mine in the wardrobe. It has been a journey of acceptance and forgiveness, and some of my pain surrounding his decision will never fully heal. But now, since we are soon to be family in the truest sense of the word, I welcome his embrace.

"Okay!" Emma tries to calm everyone down. "Okay! There's more!"

She's not…

She can't be…

Can she?

Our families quiet down, taking their places around the coffee table while Emma and Pinocchio still stand. Charming reaches for my hand from his position on the floor and grasps on it tightly.

Nobody speaks, waiting, hanging on Emma's every word.

My nerves get the better of me, though, and I try to find a private moment for just my daughter and me. When she looks at me, my eyes widen and I mouth the words, "You're not?"

"No!" Emma says loudly. "I'm not pregnant!"

Relief, for some reason, flows out me. Of course, I want I larger family. Having more children is something Charming and I have discussed many times. However, Storybrooke is not the right place to do it…not here, in a half-cursed town while we're still learning about our daughter. No, the right place to have more children would be –

"We have decided to wait to get married once we're back home," Pinocchio announces. "In Fairytale Land."

"When everyone is home; safe and sound." Emma smiles. "It'll give me something to look forward to…to work towards."

Henry stands and hugs his mother. "For all of us to look forward to!"

Emma bends down to look at her son. She brushes his hair off his forehead. "Thanks, kid."

Pinocchio bends down to Henry. Henry reaches out for another hug without hesitation.

It's sweet.

When Pinocchio releases him, Henry turns back to Emma. She puts her palm on his chest, and I know her next words will be serious.

"Henry, August and I want to ask you something special."

My brain freezes. And then it reels. How can Emma ask Henry anything father or stepfather related when she still hasn't told him the truth about his real father?

"Okay." Henry asks curiously, his eyes darting between Emma and Pinocchio.

Emma smiles. "We were wondering if August could join you and me on our special Wednesday night outing next week."

"Our special outing?"

"Only if it's okay, Henry." Pinocchio reassures him.

Before Henry has chance to answer, however, Charming chimes in, "Hey! I thought that was exclusive Mother-son time!" He smiles through his complaints. "What if we wanted to go to ice cream with you guys?"

Henry breaks from Emma and turns to Charming with a smile. "We have ice cream together all the time, Grandpa."

While it's still weird to hear Charming addressed as Grandpa, it always warms my soul.

"What do you say, Henry?" Emma asks, desperately waiting for an answer.

"Of course he can come." The whole room breaks out in smiles. "My only request," Henry pretends to act serious. "Is to wear your Pinocchio clothes next Halloween. I bet I can be a more convincing Pinocchio than you were."

Henry breaks into a smile with the rest of the family, while Pinocchio acts affronted.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for waiting! The Baelfire issue/question will be addressed next vignette in FTL for those who missed that drama storyline here. The sooner readers let me know they want it, the sooner they'll have it. _  
_

Two things, If there are any artists or photoshop geniuses out there who want to make a Story cover image of the cuckoo clock described last chapter (any detail of it), please, please PM me. I've looked everywhere for an image that comes close to what I describe and have had no luck.

Also, IMO it would be awesome reviewer Anna got a fanfiction account (I've been refraining from saying anything), we'd have so much to talk about.


	4. Trying To Prove Who's Right

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Nine am: Trying To Prove Who's Right_

"He's a kid who is trying like hell to be loved by his father!" I hear her yells across the pasture. I turn from my work so I can watch her storming towards me.

Just like I predicted.

The wind grabs holds of her dress and whips it around her, allowing me an indecent look at her – at least indecent, here…when we first met, her skin was showing in places it would be a crime to show now. I close my eyes for a moment and can see her in her racy waitress outfit, highlighting her womanly features. Oh, to go back there – to the place in our lives when we both wanted the same thing.

I turn away from her when she comes closer. Determined to look busy, I pick up the rake I dropped earlier and begin finishing the job I started.

"What the hell is wrong with you that you can't just show your kid a little love, a little validation for the things he does for you?"

I lean on the rake's handle and put my other hand in my pocket. "What the hell are you talking about, darlin'?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Baelfire." She points her finger at my chest. "Don't pull your oblivious crap with me."

My gaze falls to her finger. I grab it with my free hand and force it back towards her. The tiniest wince escapes her lips and I smile, congratulating myself on receiving the exact reaction I wanted out of her. "Point your finger some where else, would ya, sweetheart?"

"I am trying so hard to work with you." She crosses her arms, and continues harshly. "Why do you insist on making everything so difficult all the time?"

"Again, you need to be a little more specific." I demand. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Our son. Henry." I love how her voice becomes softer when she mentions his name. "He came back this morning in a worse condition than when I sent him to you."

"He's not a rental car, darlin'. I suggest you start talking about your son with some respect if you want him to have any for himself."

She looks as though I just slapped her hard across the face.

"You're avoiding the subject." Her voice is cold, and her eyes are ice as they pierce through me.

"Actually," I smile briefly. "I am addressing your subject head on. You are concerned about me respecting our son. Here I am," My hand drops the rake and joins the other hand in showing off my torso. "Telling you it really isn't appropriate to talk about Henry as if he was some sort of rental item that needs to be returned in the same state that it was checked out in."

She blinks. By her crossed armed position and her facial expression, I know she doesn't care about a word I just said.

"Tell me about the cut on his forehead." She says angrily. Then she leans in closer to me with one shoulder, teasing me with her bare skin. "Tell me you at least paid attention, noticed your son enough to see it."

My brain takes a while to process her words. It's too busy looking over the contours of her neck.

She follows my gaze, steps back, and then somehow locks my eyes with hers, showing disapproval while demanding an answer.

Images replay over and over again, reliving the incident in my head.

"What did Henry tell you happened?"

"Why? Want to make sure your stories match?" Impatience creeps into her voice. "It doesn't matter what Henry said. I'm asking you what happened."

"Oh!" I laugh at her. "It doesn't matter what your son tells you? Interesting. I'll keep that in mind next time you lecture me about respecting our son."

That's when she slaps me, hard, across the cheek.

Bitch.

I grab her by the arms, forcing her back into our fence. My face crosses her personal space limits, coming so close to hers that my nose touches her cheek.

"We had a deal," I start, making sure her eyes are on mine when I speak to her. "Henry's time with me is my time, and his time with you is yours. As long as Henry is safe, you have no say in what I do with him or tell him."

"Henry is not safe!" She yells in my face.

Despite her yelling, which I'll admit turns me on, I reposition myself back in the crook of her nose once she's done talking.

"He was playing baseball with some of the local villagers." I tell her. "Someone accidentally hit Henry with the bat." I shrug. "It happens."

She smiles, as if she knows something I don't. "You think because you told Henry to tell me the same story that I would magically believe you?"

"Honey," I say seriously. "If I wanted you to believe me that badly, I would have used magic."

She retorts, "Well, given that you hate magic, I doubt it."

I smile; brush a strand of her hair out of face, and say softly, "I can't believe you remember that."

She steps on my foot, causing me to wince in pain. When she tries to break free of me, I hold on tighter. "Have somewhere to be, sweetheart? Perhaps a toy puppet is waiting for you somewhere?"

"Henry will never come here again if you don't let go of me right now."

My smile widens when I release her from my feeble hold; a hold that the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming could easily break free from.

When she doesn't move from the fence, I say, "Oh, come on, you liked it."

"If your bat story is what you're sticking with, I think I should go."

I cross my arms and give her a nod of my head. "Yes, you wouldn't want your toy puppet to worry."

"Wow. Talk about being an example of respect for our son."

I look around for something I know isn't there. "You know, I don't think our son is here. While I realize you don't like it, I will continue to talk about your doll husband in whatever way I choose and there's not much you can do about it."

"What happened to you, Bae?" She says softly. Her seductive voice sings to me. "You didn't used to be like this. When we first met, we were two broken people, sure, but you had this carefree, attractive spirit about you that I simply can't find anymore."

Her words surprise me. There's only one other time she has brought up our past in such a…such a sensitive way. It's almost like she cares…almost.

I lean my face closer to hers once again. "You just see what you want to see. You wanted to see it when you were younger. You wanted a good time, someone to fool around with. Now, you just see me as a threat." I pause as we stare at each other, and I feel the sexual tension between us. I glide my index finger down her arm. "But I don't have to be. We can be friends, really, we can. Just like before, if you only allowed yourself to see it."

She moves out of my touch quickly. I watch closely as a gust of wind goes through her curls. "I want to see it." She admits. Her sensitivity is still in her voice and on her face as she addresses me. The tone touches something deep inside of me. "Really I do. But here's the thing." When she shrugs after her words, all softness leaves her. "People can't see what isn't there."

It's my turn to look like I just was slapped in the face.

"Emma…" I try to beg softly.

"Are you going to tell me what happen to his forehead or not?"

I want to tell her, really I do. But I can't. There's no way she would understand.

She interprets my silence as my final answer.

When she steps back with one foot, I know we're done. Sadness and disappointment cover her face. Part of my heart reaches out to her.

"He comes back less than perfect again, and I promise you the deal I made with your father will be null and void. Understood?"

I don't know how she would break that deal with Papa. Nobody breaks deals with Papa. But, all it takes is one look at her to know she could. Somehow.

After a final staring contest with each other, she falls back on her furthest foot from me, pulling away. When her back turns, my head drops, and an ache in a heart resurfaces.

Before she's out of hearing distance, I yell out. "Hey!" When she turns to me, her sexy features call out to me. "Pinocchio doesn't know you're here." I wait for a reaction, but don't see any. "Does he, darlin'?"

I'm sure she catches my victorious smile before she treads back across our field towards the castle in the distance.

Yes, better taunt her with threats to her husband than admit it was I who caused the cut on Henry's forehead.


	5. If It All Goes Crashing Into The Sea

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eleven pm: If It All Goes Crashing Into The Sea_

From the second I opened the cold glass door; I knew the beaten down building had a magical quality to it. A magical quality I hadn't felt in seventeen years; a magical quality completely out of place here, between the uninviting cement floor and the shielded windows.

No, magic can't be here. Not here, in an old bus station.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hear a rude voice behind me. "Standing in the middle of the doorway?"

"Sorry," I say feebly and I move to the side.

The man brushes past me and our shoulders touch, forcing us to look at each other. In an instant, our eyes lock and we freeze.

There's something familiar about the man, that I know, but I can't figure out why. A jolt goes down my spine when I feel magic again, and wonder if he brought it in. The hope is gone as soon as it came, though, just when I remember I felt the quality before he entered the building.

Before the moment becomes too awkward, I turn away, eyeing an uncomfortable seat further into the room that is calling to me for some reason.

"Hey!" The man yells out, forcing me to half-turn towards him. Despite his unimpressive form, the older man intimidates me. I try to stand up straighter, to look confidently at him, but fail after my best efforts. The man snickers. "A bus station this late at night is not a place for your kind of people."

My kind of people? Who does he think he is, acting so superior? If he only knew that my fairytale was probably on his television set fifty times before he was ten years old.

"Thanks for the tip." I state before turning my back to him.

"Hey!" He repeats his summon expecting me to turn again. I don't. When I take I seat in the uncomfortable chair begging me to occupy it, the man walks closer. "Do we know each other?"

Convinced the man is not the source of the magical sensation around me, I am already tired of my interaction with him. I flop my canvas bag on the adjoining seat next to mine and pull out my paperback. I am not able to locate my last read page before he grabs hold of me and pulls me to my feet.

"I asked you," he pulls our faces closer. "If we knew each other."

Usually, I don't put myself in positions where I could be threatened. I've learned that lesson enough times over the last seventeen years to know to watch my back. I'm such a hypocrite though, writing as I man who entered a beaten down bus station an hour before midnight.

My words escape before I can stop them. "What do you care?" Somehow, I manage to free myself from his hold on my collar. "What's it to you?"

I know responding to threats with sass is not a smart decision, but my impulsive behavior is hard to control sometimes.

For some reason he takes a step back from me, a nostalgic look is on his face. "There's something familiar about this place…" He says, searching around the empty bus station.

My eyes narrow for a second while I cross my arms and look at him.

Freak.

Is the first word that comes to mind to describe his current behavior; creep is the second. Still determined to be indifferent about the man, I casually say, "Perhaps you've been here before," before returning to my seat and picking up my paperback.

"Of course you wouldn't feel it." The man mumbles to himself. When I break through his words, my attention snaps to him again, the paperback falling from me for the second time.

No way…

He couldn't…

Could he?

There were only two people who left home before the curse invaded it, right? If there was another way to leave, surely The Blue Fairy would have told Snow White or Father or somebody…right?

Suddenly, my head is spinning. Home is a place I don't allow myself to think about anymore. There are too many memories…too many guilt trips.

Who is this guy?

While I desperately race through every option I can to try to trick the truth out of him, I realize he is nonchalantly searching the bus station for the source of whatever sensation he's feeling.

Or we're both feeling…

My heart beats faster. A shiver runs down my spin. I stand in one position, stuck watching the man searching, while I try to gain some control over my excited thoughts.

Something calls to me, forcing my attention away from the man to my paperback on under my seat. As I crouch down, my eyebrows furrow, questioning if the something calling to me is magic. When my fingers curve around the paperback, my gaze holds on a knitted blanket that fell over the edge of the seat abutting the back of mine.

A knitted white blanket.

I've seen that knitted blanket before.

I jump up too quickly, my irrational excitement overwhelming me, and hit my head on the metal bar connecting the seats.

It. Is. Not. Possible.

Automatically, my hand reaches up to soothe to point of contact as my gaze rises to confirm my suspicions about the owner of the blanket I remember.

Sure enough, I spot the girl sleeping across a set of uncomfortable chairs.

My heart melts when I remember her name:

Emma.

I pivot quickly and bend down beside her. Softly wiping her bangs off her forehead, I start to memorize her features.

"Hey!" The man calls out loudly, making me jump a little. I look back at him, conveying an exasperated expression on my face. "Do you know her?" He asks, walking closer to the pair of us – I wish he wouldn't.

I turn back to her, back to starring at her beautiful, peaceful expression. She must be the source of the magical sensation I've felt since I walked through the door. I wonder if my nostalgia for magic from home lured me into the building in the first place. However, as much as her magic intoxicates me, the girl's presence somehow makes everything worse, not better.

The man halts just he steps on me to watch her. My instinct tells me to protect her from him before another pain jolts my heart; I remember protecting her was my job in the first place.

"Emma," the man announces after he reads the embroidery across her blanket. "What an enchanting name."

Suddenly, hatred for the man erupts within me. I spin around, spreading my arms out to guard her from the bad man.

"Oh-ho!" The man laughs. "The girl needs protecting, does she?"

My words slip out. "It's my job to protect her."

When his grin widens in mockery, I'm sick with abhorrence. "You decided you would protect her after you saw me, the evil man in the empty bus station, coming over to check her out, did you? How noble."

"It has nothing to do with you." I retort again, regretting my words once more.

"Right," he crosses his arms and lets out a small chuckle. "Of course not." His authoritative stance hovers over us when I refuse to move from the sleeping girl. "I'll make you a deal: You tell me what the girl possesses, the item giving off the old familiar sensation that I know we both feel, and I will leave the girl alone."

It's not an item. It's the person herself.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie escapes me effortlessly.

"You're a terrible liar."

My breath catches. No one has made an insinuation like that in seventeen years. Unconsciously, my fingers reach up to touch my nose – which thankfully is its normal size.

Quickly, my fingers drop. When I notice the direction of his gaze, his astonishment at his own realization, I know I'm screwed.

"Well, well, well." The man steps closer, but I step backwards desperately searching for an escape. "I guess Pinocchio's nose finally stopped growing, that must be such a relief."

As much as I would like to share stories, to bond over our old home, his threatening advances force my survival instincts to kick in.

The man pins against a shielded window, and I feel around for a hatch, a handle, anything to help me escape backward, I duck his intended face punch and his fist goes into a cement pillar. Crouched on the ground, I see headlights approaching through the bottom of a tainted window.

I forget everything else. My thoughts tunnel to the bus, determined to use it as my escape. I scan the room for the door out, noting it in the corner across from me. Still absorbed in his hand injury, the man doesn't notice when I stand. Thankfully, I spot a broom close to me, attached to unclaimed janitor's cart. I side step to it, reaching for the broom handle.

A new energy takes hold on me when I grasp the broom. All the right reasons are propelling me to make the wrong decision. Tiptoeing closer to the man, I raise the broom above my head and his, and summon the courage to strike.

Just as I'm ready to take action, the man starts to turn, saying, "How did you leave home, Pinoc-?" before I whack him out with the broom, hurling him unconscious onto the floor.

Above the door, a cracked clock reads 11:25. According to my ticket, I have five minutes to catch my bus out of here. The man twitches at my feet; he'll wake soon.

11:26

I want to search him, to look through his pockets for and I.D., but know I won't have time. Then I realize finding the I.D, probably wouldn't answer my questions anyway, considering my I.D. says August Wayne Booth.

11:27

A red light catches my eye when I look up at the bus again. "Men" it says. I smile at the sign and the brilliant idea it offers. Carefully, I drag the older man across the small station and into its bathroom. I release him in the handicapped stall, letting his head drop inches from the cement floor.

I take a pen from my jacket pocket. Squatting beside the man, I position my pen above his forehead. My left hand holds his black hair back so I can write the word "DRUNK" across his forehead.

11:29

My eyes check the clock as I race out the men's door. Shifting my gaze to the bus and holding it there, I run backwards to my bag, looping my arm around its strap, and am out the door before I can look back.

11:35

From the second I went through the glass door; the magical quality, the magical high left my body. Already depressed, regrets started to consume me as soon as the bus began to move. Now, on the bus, I realize I left two things behind: my paperback and Emma. My lack of entertainment only makes my guilt worse. With nothing to keep my mind busy, I have an eight-hour bus ride to do nothing but beat myself up about my eternal selfish behavior.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for waiting! I was on vacation for a week and didn't have a chance to let my readers know. :0! Thanks for all your feedback and sprited responses. Expect regular biweekly updates from now on.


	6. If It's Just You And Me

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eleven am: If It's Just You and Me_

"Knock-Knock." I hear the sound of knocking first before the visitor's words. Quickly, I slide the letter I was working into my desk drawer before looking up.

"Pinocchio!" I exclaim, acting surprised at his presence, but actually expecting it. I stand when I register Anna is with him. "And Anna, what a honor." I reach out to hold my granddaughter, and Pinocchio gives in reluctantly. "Twice in one morning." I try to make eye contact with her; she looks at me for a brief second, and then turns back to her father before shutting her eyes. I plant a kiss on her forehead.

While I lightly bounce Anna, I watch Pinocchio awkwardly standing in my office; his gaze avoids mine. I think of my daughter, where she is right now, and know why her husband is here – figuring out how to bring up the topic he wants to discuss. The only problem is I promised Emma I wouldn't discuss it.

"Where's Henry?" I ask him, hopefully giving him something to say.

"With your wife." Pinocchio turns in my direction. "I think they are doing a follow up tutoring session from four days ago."

"Right." I comment, quickly remembering how excited Snow was to finish her lesson. Now that she only teaches at court, her lessons are scarce. Even though she loves it, Snow has a hard time fitting it in amongst her other royal duties. "It's great that Henry is still so excited about learning. Growing up, I hardly had time to finish the required schooling, my Mother always needed help with the farm."

Pinocchio smiles. "If I could have gone to college in the States I would have. Their education system is so different than it is here. It fascinated me."

"Why didn't you?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"I don't know," He lies. I smile at his attempt to be honest, leaning on my desk with Anna in my arms as I stare him down. "Life got complicated, especially as an orphan freely jumping around from place to place. I don't think I could have kept all of my scattered school records together even if I wanted to."

From talking with him and with Emma, I know how educated he actually is, quoting everything from Shakespeare to Hemingway and anything in between. "So what did you do?" I ask, hoping to prolong our education discussion as long as possible before his real motives for seeking me out are addressed.

"You know," Pinocchio places his hands in his back pockets and shrugs. "I taught myself what I wanted to learn and ignored the rest of less important subjects – like math." I laugh. "Which was a shame. As it turned out math was actually really important for carpentry in the other world."

"You can't magically cut the wood in the right lengths."

"No." He smiles, releasing his hands. "Father and I definitely took that for granted when I was growing up."

I watch Anna, sleeping in my arms. In an euphoric state, I say, "We take a lot of things for granted we shouldn't."

I look at my son-in-law seriously, now both our smiles have disappeared.

He takes a deep breath and parts his lips. Knowing what he's going to say, suddenly I realize how much I don't want to hear it. I cut him off. "Emma will be back soon, Pinocchio. Just be patient."

"You knew she was going? You know where she is? Where is she?"

Letting out a small laugh, I duck my head so my nose touches Anna's. I whisper to my granddaughter. "I wonder if you will be as impatient when you grow up Anna." Anna's opens her eyes and reaches out to touch my facial hair. "Huh? Will everyone know when you're lying too?"

Anna just smiles, as if she's understood everything I've said, somehow deciding what kind of lying talents she will have.

"I'm just worried about her."

I redirect my attention to Pinocchio, my eyebrows furrowing while I figure out how honest he's being.

If he replaced his last word with a "him," then he would really be honest.

My non-response doesn't help Pinocchio open up as I hoped it might. Against my instincts, I finally say. "She told me Henry did not have the cut on his forehead before he went to Bae's."

I raise my eyebrows at him, challenging him a little. Pinocchio moves his left hand over his forehead, rubbing his fingers back and forth. I look him closer and soon realize his agony, but I have no idea why he is in pain.

"This is all my fault." He whispers.

"What?" Slips off my tongue when I register his words. "What are you talking about?" Pinocchio looks at me and I have my answer. "Henry's pain is not your fault, Pinocchio. Whatever happened, even if Bae hurt Henry, it still not your fault."

"Yes it is!" Pinocchio cries out. "It is my fault! Even if Bae didn't hurt Henry, the fact that both Henry and Emma have Bae in their lives is entirely my fault."

My breath catches at his words. Anna starts crying when she senses her Father is upset. After pulling himself together, Pinocchio takes Anna from me and calms her down.

I cross my arms, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. "What are you saying?"

Once Pinocchio has his daughter settled in his arms, he makes eye contact with me. I notice how quickly his eyes have turned blood shot, pain enveloping his whole face. My heart sinks. I don't need to know the whole story to know whatever happened; whatever he did was horrible.

"It's my fault Emma and Bae hooked up in the first place!" He admits. His words have little affect on me, other than shock at his bluntness, before I see the single tear fall down his face.

My head spins as I try to grasp the betrayal he seems to be implying and the heartbreak he seems to be feeling. Based on past conversations, I can only assume he's talking about leaving Emma as a baby in the first place. "August," I use his Storybrooke name. "We've been though this a thousand times. It took a while, I'll admit, but Snow and I have forgiven you. You need to forgive yourself for abandoning Emma too."

"That's not what I'm talking about." He says quickly.

My arms release from their entanglements and go up in exasperation. "Then what the hell are you talking about Pinocchio? Why don't you be straightforward and honest for once in your life?"

I know my words are harsh, especially when he winces at them, but right now they seem justified.

Pinocchio takes a deep breath. "I was the one who led Bae to Emma in the first place." My eyebrows furrow in confusion, but I let him finish talking. "I didn't protect her when I could. Either time I saw her, I could have protected her when I had the chance, and now we'll always have him in our lives."

Wait. What is he saying? He can't be saying what I think he's saying. I pause, remembering. Of course he can, he is Pinocchio after all. He's coming to me for martial advice, instead of working it out with his wife. Once a coward, always a coward. I close my eyes. Putting my palm out between us, I say, "'Either time you saw her?' Emma told me you met once before Storybrooke. You saw her before that?"

"Yes." He admits simply.

Anger boils under my skin. Reminding myself I do in fact like the man before me, I try to hide my emotions. He is family. He is the father of my granddaughter, and my only child's true love. More than that he has been completely loyal and loving to Emma, making her happy in times Snow and I couldn't. It's hard not to like him after that list. I take a few deep breaths, waiting for the anger to pass.

"Hey!" Emma swings through the doorway, clinging onto its molding to support her. Joy relieves my body when I see my daughter, her dress flowing around her as she moves. "Anna!" She exclaims with excitement. "I didn't expect to see you here." She happily lifts Anna from her husband's arms before giving him a quick kiss.

Emma is too absorbed in her daughter to notice the pain on her husband's face. Compassion flows out from me to him, despite his confession, which I still don't fully understand yet.

"I have to go help my Father in his workshop." Pinocchio declares. I have another feeling he's lying to us, making up excuses to leave the room.

"Okay," Emma says to Anna's face, rather than Pinocchio's.

He leaves the room without another word.

"Are you going to tell him you were with Bae, Emma?"

Finally, Emma looks up at me from her daughter. "Well, I don't have to, given that you just did."

Her words send an arrow through my heart. "Emma, I didn't him tell anything. He can put two and two together, given your reaction to Henry's cut. You guys need to have an open and honest relationship if you ever expect it to work out between you."

"It was easier before." Emma admits softly. "I knew when he was lying and he knew how I was feeling. It was almost as if we had nothing to be honest about – we already knew everything. Now he's afraid I'm thinking and feeling something for Bae or about Bae that I'm just not."

"He'll wouldn't be afraid, Emma, if you didn't give him a reason to be." While I love Emma confiding in me, and seeking me out for advice, the person she needs to be talking to is her husband. "If you want to patch things up in your marriage, you need to be honest with him." I shrug. "You know that, honey, I've told that before. While you might not like my advice, I wouldn't give it if it didn't work."

Emma sighs and turns her attention back to Anna. "He already suspects Bae has feelings for me." She adjusts her hold on Anna so she can express herself with one arm. "I can't do anything about that." She stares at me, as if somehow waiting for my approval. I quickly shake my head in disappointment. "What? What am I supposed to do, tell me what to do and I'll do it."

I've haven't been a parent for the number of years my child has been alive, but I've been a parent long enough to know not to answer requests like hers.

I grab my jacket from the back of my chair, and approach the door, stopping at Emma to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I told you, being honest is hard. I'm sure you don't want to admit it to Pinocchio, maybe you haven't even admitted it to yourself yet, but don't tell me Henry is the only reason you go and talk to Bae." I say softly before leaving her and her daughter alone in my office.


	7. Trying To Find The Light

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Ten pm: Trying To Find The Light_

"I have decided," August tells me between kisses, "That I am never leaving our sacred spot again."

"Oh yeah?" My lips upturn before finding his again. "And are you intending to keep me captive here with you?"

I scan the forest, around the magical tree that brought us here together, trying to imagine actually sleeping here for a night. We would never consider it, with both our families in Storybrooke waiting for us, but it is fun to daydream about. I've always liked camping, and only recently did I connect that my love of camping might be because my mother is Snow White.

August pulls me closer to him, his hands feeling their way across my lower back. I let out a groan when he kisses me one last time before dipping down to kiss my neck.

"In a perfect world." August's lips leave my skin. His head rises so he can look at me seriously. "Yes." I kiss him quickly. "But we don't live in a perfect world, do we?"

Even though there is a smile on August's face, I see sadness there too. I am not sure if his current sadness has to do with his wish to go home or with our encounter with Bae earlier this evening at the ice cream shop.

My fingers stroke his face, hopefully providing him with some comfort. "I love you Pinocchio," I tell him. He smiles, leans in again to kiss my cheek before gathering me up for a long embrace.

I close my eyes when my chin finds his shoulder to rest on. August begins to stroke my hair and it feels nice.

"Well you better," he whispers. "Since we're unofficially engaged and all."

I smile even though August can't see it from my place on his shoulder. Unconsciously, I bring my left hand up so I can see my bare ring finger. While I like keeping our news private, except for our families, I can't help wondering when we will go public with the information.

I wince when I remember Bae's arrival. I try not to think about the impact he will have on our lives. As long as I keep my mouth shut, nothing bad can happen, right? Henry's image appears in my head and my eyelids immediately pop open. My kid somehow figured out he was living in a town full of cursed fairytale characters, surely he will be able to figure out his own father now walks among them.

August must sense the stress in my body rise because he releases me in order to look at me deeply.

Right now, I wish he wouldn't.

"What's wrong?" He asks, in his loving and concerned voice.

"Nothing." I lie to Pinocchio.

I don't give him time to respond. My head turns, I press my lips to his, and my arms wrap around him so tightly that he will have trouble untangling himself out of my hold.

His soft palms cup my cheeks and I lean into him even further, if that's possible. I savor his touch and his comfort. When his tongue asks permission to enter, I grant it, trying to stay in the moment with the man I love. August's hands stay on my skin as they outline its contours, going down my neck and onto my shoulders. I feel his thumb under my jacket and know what he's thinking. It surprises me, though I am not sure why. It's funny how a simple action like taking off a jacket to reveal my tank top can still give me butterflies, especially since men have been taking of my jackets for years.

I relax my tight hold on him and let August pull my jacket down my arms. He pulls my tank top straps off my shoulders to kiss whatever part of them he missed while I bury the rest of my arms inside his leather jacket.

While he is kissing my neck my fingers entangle themselves in his hair. My eyes open and look past him. I see a blinking car light in the distance and am suddenly reminded of how we first met:

_The rain came down in sheets that night. Past midnight already, I was already late for my shift at the diner – once again. _

_I saw his motorcycle headlight approaching me, but figured I'd run ahead of it since every minute I was late counted against me. _

_He stopped right before his tire ran over my boot. "Watch it!" I yelled at the motorcycle man who almost ran over my pregnant belly._

"_Sorry. I didn't see you." He said._

"_Well, next time," I continued yelling in the downpour. "Keep your eyes open." _

_Then we made eye contact and both froze._

"_Emma?" He whispered._

His haunting voice rings in my ears as the memory resurfaces. Suddenly, my skin aches to separate from the motorcycle man, to back away from his touch. He is still kissing my check when I let go of his hair and drop my hands to my sides. I look away to find my jacket in the dirt. Any remaining contact between us is gone when I bend down to grab my jacket.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong now?" I hear the frustration in his voice while I am turned from him to put on my jacket. I see his frustration when I turn back to him, flipping my hair out from under the leather.

"You know what's wrong." I answer calmly.

Sadness masks both our faces at the same time. We stare at each other; memorizing the pain we're both in.

Then I remember: We came here for a reason. Here is where we come to escape everything.

"Besides what's wrong doesn't matter here," I remind him.

"Maybe it should," He whispers.

"Why? Why did you bring me here, August? Why did you theoretically decide never to leave our sacred place?" My gaze levels his. I whisper. "Was to avoid conflict, trying to stay in our happy bubble forever, or was it to solve it?"

"I don't know." He says breathlessly.

I close my eyes, disappointed in his words. I didn't realize how much my own disappointment hurt me until I feel the single tear falling down my cheek. "Do you want to say it or should I?"

"Emma," he begs me to not continue.

I whisper it anyway. "You know what Bae is doing here and what fairytale he belongs to, don't you?"

"Only after you said his name." He admits faintly.

"Well," I say impatiently. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

His inner conflict shows on his distraught face. He takes a deep breath. "I don't think it's my place to tell you."

"Like hell it isn't!" I start to raise my voice. "Really, August, you're playing that card now? After all we've been through together, you're deciding to keep secrets from me now? Really?"

August crosses his arms. "It's not like you haven't chosen to play secret card once or twice yourself."

His words catch me off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"Henry!" He yells, causing me to do a double take. He lowers his voice to continue. "You told Henry his father was dead. He's not, is he?"

All thoughts in my head cease when my world turns on its side – yet again.

I avoid his question. "When did Henry tell you that?"

He avoids mine. "Bae is Henry's father, isn't he?"

In one statement, all my hopes of concealing or avoiding the truth are dashed. Somehow, in my panicked state, I realize his implication doesn't make sense, at least not from his perspective. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What on earth would make you think that?"

"Just tell I'm wrong."

I can't answer him. I try, but can't bring myself to do it. My cowardice silence becomes my answer.

After a few moments of shaming myself, I finally decide to look at August – only to see the tears running down his face.

The sight of him is heartbreaking.

"It doesn't matter who he is!" I blurt out. "I won't let it affect us!"

"Emma!" August cries. "He is the father of your child and we are engaged! How can it not affect us?"

"I don't know!" I say desperately. "Because you are my one true love, not him! So what if he's Henry's father? It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"But," August says sadly, "nothing's ever going to be the same, is it?"

"Pinocchio." My tears start falling endlessly. Only now do I start to process Henry's father is probably a fairytale character. "Nothing was ever what we thought it was."

"Emma." He whispers in such a heartbreaking tone that I want to reach out to try to comfort him. "I love you so much. You have no idea."

I reach out to him; he is in my arms before I exhale. His head rests on my shoulder and I bring my arms up around him and into his hair again. We hold on to each other so tight, neither of us can breathe.

"I know you do," I whisper. "And I love you too. Forever I promise."

"Me too," he promises before kissing me softly.

August holds my hand as he leads me to my car. Realizing that our short conversation is the only closure we'll have on the issue tonight, I follow him with relief.

Of course, my relief is short lived. My stress and fears return when I spot Bae amongst the trees in the darkness of the woods.

I bang my head on my headrest, hating myself for my carelessness. How could I have not known Bae was listening into our entire conversation?

* * *

A/N: Readers will find out what happened exactly to Henry's forehead next vignette. I'm so excited about it! Anyone care to guess what POV it will be from? (Hint: You haven't heard from them before :D ). Please review, it means so much when I hear from all you quiet readers!


	8. Letting Cannonballs Fly

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Ten am: Letting Cannonballs Fly_

"I thought we agreed we would have a magical feast for lunch." Henry's voice interrupts my spinning escape as he approaches my wheel. I look up at him, somewhat dishearten to find his gloomy expression still on his face from earlier this morning. "And your son insists that we cook it ourselves, without magic."

When Henry flops himself on my spinning bench, a bench I consider sacred, I reluctantly free my attention from my work and give it to my grandson, knowing I have no other choice. Although Henry grows taller by the day, I still have a few more weeks of looking down at him to meet his eyes. "I think your dad just wants to teach you to cook without magic, Henry. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know how to cook." Henry quickly retorts. "With and without magic. And we both know you don't lie, but you don't you don't tell the whole truth either. So, can you explain to me why we can't have one magical fest while I'm here?"

I put on a sad smile. Even before I knew we were related, Henry had always impressed me with his ability to persuade people to help him, to work with him. Now, he reminds me so much of Baelfire, sometimes I hate myself for not seeing the similarities between them, not only physically, but morally as well.

"You're here to bond with your dad, Henry. Not with me. I know all of us talked about a magical fest, and I know you and Belle were really looking forward to it, but if your dad doesn't want magic in his house while you're here, I have to respect that."

"You can respect it because you and Belle can go home and have a magically fest of your own whenever you guys want."

His sassy words pain me for a second. I close my eyes and my head droops from him to the floor. Henry is not mine to discipline. There are too many people fighting over him already, to put myself in that ring. I did my part in securing Henry for my son. Though I would never admit it out loud, some days I even regret following though on that deal; after seeing the stress and pain it has caused my one and only grandson. I'd rather Henry want to be here, with his dad, than forced to be here.

"Sorry." Henry says after seeing my disappointed.

"Belle and I want to be here with you and your dad." I look back at him, trying to convince him of my sincerity. "Our family is very important to us, especially you. Okay? There's no where else we want to go for lunch." Henry smiles softly and I add. "Even though it's difficult sometimes, I hoped you would eventually feel that way too."

"I do!" Henry talks over me. When I furrow my eyebrows, he reconsiders. "I want to…" He admits quietly.

"I know you do, Henry."

"And it has nothing to do with Mom or Pinocchio." Henry looks at me to make sure I believe him. "Whenever I'm packing to come over here, I look forward to it, but after being here for a day, I end up bored and miserable and just want to go home to watch over Anna."

"Have you told your Father how you feel, Henry?"

"No!" He says automatically again. "You're much easier to talk to."

I never thought of myself in that way before. I smile to myself, deciding Belle must be responsible for that trait coming out of me.

I take a deep breath, deciding now might be an acceptable time to share some advice with my grandson. "A real man would try talking to his Father and not avoiding him."

"Well, thankfully I have a few more years before I have to answer to that."

I frown, noting the teenage sarcasm in his voice. "That's not what a son of a princess would say, and definitely not the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming."

Henry finds his omniscient face. "And what about the grandson of Rumpelstiltskin? What would he say?"

My answer would really depend on what time in my long life he was asking. Now, as the coward in me is buried deep below my skin, I still stick to my original reply. "He would also expect his grandson to stand up to his father every once and a while." I lean in closer to Henry. "Trust me, it would be good for Baelfire to hear."

"What would be good for me to hear, Papa?" Bae's voice approaches us from behind. Henry and I turn at the same time to watch him come further into the room. He is carrying a full bucket of water and some firewood for the fire. "Henry, could you take the wood from me and place in the fire place?"

Reluctantly, and with his shoulders slouched over, Henry walks over to his father and follows his instructions. As Henry tends the fire, his indifferent face turns to a gloomy one. Just looking at him sobers me up as well.

"We were just talking about lunch plans," I tell Bae while catching Henry's eye.

Bae smiles unconvincingly. "What's with all the obsession over lunch plans?" I notice he tries to keep his voice under control. The effort he takes to talk at a normal volume worries me. "It's only ten-fifteen in the morning."

"Well," I finally stand to approach my son; my legs and back now stiff from sitting so long. "As you know it's Henry's last day here and as you are having dinner with him alone tonight, we were planning on a special fest for lunch for all of us."

"All of us?" Baefire turns to find me closer to him than he expected. "Belle is coming too?"

My concern arises again for my son. It is our tradition to have a large family meal on Henry's last day here. "Did you forget it is Henry's last day before he goes back to Emma's? Did time pass that quickly, my son?"

"No." Bae still struggles to keep his tone light. "I just didn't realize you and Belle were staying that long."

"Does that mean we can use magic to cook lunch?" Henry runs to us from across the room. "Please." Henry pulls at my heart when his eyes plead with his father.

Bae finally looks straight at Henry. "You spent to much time around Regina and her magical powers and now that you are around your mother and her magic, you can afford to spend four days without it."

Henry's anger starts to show before Bae is done speaking. "My mom doesn't use magic the way Regina did!"

"Maybe not." Bae challenges Henry. "But that doesn't mean she isn't obsessed with it in her own way and I think it is good for you to have a break from it when you are here."

"My mom isn't obsessed with magic!" Henry starts to yell. Suddenly I am in the middle of the same fight between father and son that has occurred many times. "It's not her fault she is a product of magic, being the offspring of true love and everything. Perhaps if you were the product of magic you wouldn't hate it so much."

An eerie silence falls over the room when Henry's words slap us both in the face.

"Henry," I quietly try to warn him.

My efforts fail, though, when he continues to yell. "Hating Anna and Pinocchio because they have pure magic in their lives, because they love Emma more then you ever could, is not an excuse to make yourself and others miserable by refusing to adapt to a magical world. You are holding yourself back from something that could actually make your life more enjoyable, and that's something about you I will ever understand!"

I sigh and cautiously look from one to the other, ready for another yelling match to ensue. If only Bae allowed himself dig up the past, to explain what I put him through during my obsession with magic, people might be able to understand him better.

By chance, Bae's gaze darts from his upset son to me and I take my chance to silently communicate with him the best I can.

"Fine!" Bae yells at Henry, making me wince a little. Bae takes Henry by his shoulder and forces him beside fireplace. "You want a magical feast? We can make a magical feast!" Bae slams a magical spell book into Henry's lap. "Here! Let's learn some magic together!"

"Baelfire…" I warn. I walk over to a corner of the room, where Bae is violently tearing through ingredients and place my hand on his arm. "Be gentle."

"No!" He looks at me like I'm crazy. "The Evil Queen's son and True Love's son wants a magical feast!" He leans into me with a wild expression. "So let's give him one! We wouldn't want to disappoint our little royal prince, now would we?"

"Bae!" I tighten my grip on him, holding him to his spot. "This is not the way to it," I whisper. "This isn't what Henry meant or wants, you know that."

"Oh-ho!" Baelfire exclaims. "A lecture on magic from the master himself. What an honor!" He tugs his arms out of my grasp. "Are you going to let me bond with my son, or do you want to take over the magic lesson yourself?"

"Well, since you haven't had much magical practice, I'd feel more comfortable guiding you through it," I beg honestly and with genuine concern.

Walking away Baefire adds, "Of course you would," under his breath.

I close my eyes in defeat wondering when, if ever, my son will mature enough to forgive me for the mistakes I made when he was a boy. We have made progress, I'll admit, since he found and entered Storybrooke, but not enough for me to be certain that my abandonment of my son did more damage to him than Snow White's did to Emma.

My knowledge of that insight is the only reason I still allow him to talk to me in that manner. Although, whenever I see his anger towards me meld into his interactions with others, especially Belle, Henry, and Emma, my tolerance begins to shorten.

Turning to supervise, I note Henry has already ignited a fire with magic; something Bae would have trouble doing even now. I pull out a bench from under the table and quietly watch my son's hidden expression of admiration.

After a few minutes of watching Henry work and talking quietly to him, Bae brings a dead pig over to the fire to prepare. Placing the magic book to his side and out of the way, Henry focuses on controlling the fire, oblivious to his father's actions. For a few minutes, there is a peaceful calm in the house; the father and son working together in silence, communicating nonverbally as Bae cleans the pig and Henry tends to the fire.

The break in silence is a welcomed one, "Hello!" Belle calls from the door.

I turn to look at her, a carefree smile on her face as she comes to greet me. She places some books beside the door and some wildflowers on the table before leaning down to give me a quick kiss.

"No!" Henry's panicked voice distracts me from Belle's presence. "That's not how you do it! You're using the wrong spell!"

"Wait," Baefire says as Henry reaches over the pig to save our lunch from becoming inedible. "Henry, move!"

The scene before me halts all other thoughts in my mind: my son performing magic he hasn't yet mastered right beside his teenage son.

"Baefire!" I rush over to the fireplace and force myself between them, turning my son's wrist away from Henry and the pig.

"Henry!" Belle rushes to Henry's side, pulling him away from his father and the ruined pig.

The blood on Belle's fingers, as she takes them away from Henry's forehand, is how I know I caught Bae's wrist after it was too late.

"Henry!" Bae cries, concern for his son gushing out of him. Bae forces himself out of my hold and reaches out to stop Henry's bleeding.

When Henry backs away from him, further into Belle's arms, I prepare myself for another outburst.

"This is why I hate magic!" He yells at all three of us.

I stand and cautiously approach Baelfire. "I understand, Bae, I know you do. But, right now, you need to go outside and calm yourself down. We need to focus on healing Henry."

His face full of regret, Bae cries, "Emma's going to kill me!"

"Outside." Is all I can say. "Bae. Now."

After one more look at a now unconscious Henry, Bae exits his home, his eyes swimming with tears.

I wait until the door shuts before kneeling down to attend to Henry. Belle holds a cloth to his forehead, preventing any more blood from escaping.

"Are counting the seconds he's been out?" I quickly ask Belle while checking Henry's breathing.

"Twenty-five, twenty-six," she shares her thoughts out loud.

I watch Henry's breathing for a moment before making a decision on what to do.

"You can save him with magic!" Belle raises her voice. "What are you waiting for?"

I give myself five more seconds, weighing my options on what to do and how many people my one decision could affect.

"Okay." I bend down closer to my grandson. "Take away the cloth."

Bell does what she's told and holds Henry steady.

Slowly, I bring my right hand over Henry's forehead, bringing my open palm into a fist. Every time I open and close my fist, more and more of Henry's blood seeps back into his cut, until all of his blood has disappeared.

I stop, finally giving myself permission to breath.

"What?" Belle's shocked voice cuts through my relief. "Just the blood? You're not going to make his cut disappear as well?"

I look at her seriously, giving her my answer silently, before pounding Henry's chest in just the right place for him to wake up.

"Why?" Belle asks over Henry's deep inhale of fresh air.

I smile at her knowing one day I will tell her the truth: Perhaps leaving Henry with a cut, a scar in a few months, will finally provide Emma with enough motivation and evidence to challenge our deal, forcing my son to grow up once and for all.

* * *

A/N: I did hear readers' requests for fluffiness, it will be coming soon!


	9. Say What You Mean

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Five pm: Say What You Mean (And It Turns To A Fight)_

"Please, Emma." Snow begs her daughter. "Please sing for us. It's just for fun, it doesn't matter."

"Nope." Emma smiles. "Sorry."

"Oh, come on," Pinocchio teases. "The whole point of tonight is to make everyone feel better."

"Everyone?" Emma looks from Pinocchio to me. I can't help mirroring her smile even though I feel like crap. Emma lifts her palm in my direction. "The whole point of tonight is to cheer Red, here, up. She's the one who just came back from a hard transformation."

My thoughts flow out as words, "Thanks for reminding me, Emma. I actually came here to forget about it."

Emma throws her arms up, purposely being overdramatic. "Exactly my point!"

"We want to make both of you feel better, Emma." James says softly.

"I'm fine." Emma doesn't dare speak Henry's name, or the fact that this afternoon is his first trial run with his newfound father; not when the rules specifically forbade talking about anything negative. "Really, I am." All of us look closely at Emma for a minute. I do notice there is something different about her. The stress I've seen in her eyes over the last week is gone. "The truth I've been holding in for the last two years is out, I only got yelled at by three people and the world didn't end. So, really everything's good."

"Two. I did not yell at you." Pinocchio exclaims.

Emma looks at him with a smile. "Oh, ok. It was just me doing all the yelling by myself then."

Pinocchio smiles back. "I don't remember."

"Perfect answer," Emma nudges him.

"Okay, Red." Snow grabs my attention. She is holding out a guitar to me. "You're turn."

"Uh-uh." I cross my arms, refusing to take the guitar. "I did not sing at home, which means I do not have to sing here."

"Ruby," I look at Emma, already knowing I won't like the direction of our conversation. "That's the whole point of tonight: to sing other people's songs – to steal them and do it better than they could themselves."

I look at her, aghast. "Your parents just did their version of 'One Song.'"

"So!" Emma exclaims. "Pinocchio did his version of 'Under The Sea!'"

"Only because you begged him to!" I lightly argue.

"Actually," Pinocchio starts. "I like to see her light up and lip sing to it." Emma gives him a challenging look. "Yes, I'll admit my selfish motives in this one instance."

Emma, Snow, and James break out in smiles, leaving me the odd one out.

"Yes, lip singing is the closest I come to actual singing." Emma admits.

"Now whose nose is growing?" Pinocchio takes the guitar from Snow and starts strumming a tone.

"Pinocchio!" Emma's expression turns horrified. She whispers, "That was supposed to be our secret!"

"Wait," Snow says with interest. "You sang for him! You can sing? You wouldn't sing for us!"

"Wouldn't and couldn't are technically two different things." Emma retorts.

"Emma," James says softly. "We would love to hear you sing."

Silently, Emma presses her lips together, zipping them shut with her fingers.

"I don't blame the blame the girl," I defend Emma to her parents. "Her parents are practically the most famous singers in the world."

"And yet," Snow exclaims. "She sang for Pinocchio." She shrugs, teasing, "His musical talent must be sub par to ours, then."

Pinocchio's guitar playing halts.

I am the only one who laughs at Pinocchio's hurt expression. I am not sure if he is only acting wounded or if Snow's comments actually offended him. Either way, I think it's funny.

"No!" Emma yells at him. "Keep playing. Following the notes is the calming me down; watching you play is keeping my mind off everything else."

"Like how your parents are the best singers ever," I offer, knowing that's not all she meant.

"Exactly." Emma says simply. "And yet," She looks annoyed at Pinocchio. "I still do not hear any music."

"You said watching me play is cheering you up. If I just sit here and mimic playing would that help?" Pinocchio teases Emma. "I mean, my sub par music skills can't be cheering you up that much, can it? Not when you have Snow White and Prince Charming as parents."

Emma shakes her head. "I do not need cheering up! I need a tune to follow that doesn't remind me of my parents' talents!"

I turn to Snow and James. While Snow has her head on James' chest, I see her trying to hide her hurt behind her eyes. James, on the other hand, is amused by his daughter and traces circles with his finger on Snow's forearm.

Pinocchio starts playing a tune I recognize but cannot name.

"Much better," Emma says in a more relaxed tone. "Thank you."

"I remember your reference to their Magical Mystery Tour, that's how I knew you liked the Beatles." Pinocchio side comments to Emma.

Here Comes The Sun! The Ruby in me remembers. That's what he is playing!

James tries to meet his daughter's gaze. "So much for songs from home."

"Next." Emma reassures him. "I needed a song from my home for a minute."

She leans back on the couch, readjusting the pillows to make her more comfortable and sets her gaze on her fiancée. As soon as Emma settles down, Pinocchio finds her gaze and holds it. Looking between them, I realize I am intruding on a deeply intimate moment between them.

I look away quickly.

Of course, my eyes fall on the other people in the room – the ever-in-love couple: my best friend and her Prince Charming. The image of them cuddling together brings warmth into my soul, and then I am reminded of how lonely I am.

Thankfully, Pinocchio switches to a song from home we all know the words to. He starts:

"Gotta keep

One jump ahead of the breadline

One swing ahead of the sword

I steal only what I can't afford

That's Everything!

One jump ahead of the lawmen

That's all, and that's no joke

These guys don't appreciate I'm broke"

All of us, even including Emma, shout out: "Riffraff! Street rat! Soundrel! Take that!"

Pinocchio sings out beautifully, "Just a little snack, guys."

With smiles, James and Snow sing: "Rip him open, take it back, guys"

On cue, Pinocchio takes his turn:

"I can take a hint, gotta face the facts

You're my only friend, Abu!"

Emma and I look at each other, together we yell out, "Who?"

Snow's door swings open right after our shout out; Henry appearing in the doorway.

Everyone lets out cries of relief and greet to him as Emma runs to him; lifting her son in her arm and whispering something to him I can't hear.

I watch Henry make his way around the room, greeting everyone with a hug. When he releases me, I smile, realizing two things: the hugs of children definitely have their own type of magic and Pinocchio's strumming has stopped. I look in his direction for a reason, only then acknowledging that his music has the same effect on me as it does Emma, to see Henry embracing his future stepfather.

Henry doesn't have time to breathe. The second Pinocchio lets go of him; Emma pulls Henry on the couch with her.

There is a moment where everyone watches Emma and Henry embrace each other. She whispering something to Henry again as he just tries to reassure her of something else.

Henry turns and climbs out of his mother's arms. Searching the room, his eyes widen. "Oh! Keep playing! I was hoping I'd get back in time to hear the last part of Song night."

Still watching him in awe: how he can transition flawlessly from one parent to the next, keeps everyone silent in shock.

"Oh, come on!" Henry offers. Taking a deep breath, he starts to sing:

"One jump ahead of the slowpokes

One skip ahead of my doom."

I smile. Emma has one cute kid, braver than anyone could hope to be at his age. I look at him singing, Pinocchio finally joining in with the guitar, and remember he has had lots of practice transitioning from one parent to the other after all the times he switched between Emma and Regina.

Pinocchio joins Henry, both of them singing:

"Next time gonna use a nom de plume

One jump ahead of the hitmen

One hit ahead of the flock

I think I'll take a stroll around the block"

Emma and I chime in, "Stop, thief! Vandal! Outrage! Scandal!"

Henry stands, pointing to us, he sings, "Let's not be too hasty."

Snow takes the next line, and Henry turns to her, acting, he places his hands on his hips. Perfectly and beautifully she sings, "Still I think he's rather tasty."

Pinocchio and Henry smile. Looking at each other, Pinocchio nods to Henry, signaling him to take the next verse.

"Gotta eat to live, gotta steal to eat

Otherwise we'd get along."

Together, Emma and I shout out, "Wrong!"

Pinocchio takes, "One jump ahead of the hoofbeats."

And we call out "Vandal!"

Henry watches Pinocchio play, singing "One hop ahead of the hump."

Snow and James call out, "Street rat!" before Emma and I have a chance to, making all four of us laugh.

Over us, Pinocchio sings, "One trick ahead of disaster."

The four of us call out, "Scoundrel!"

Henry takes his turn, "They're quick, but I'm much faster."

Looking across room at each other, Emma and I yell, "Take that!" While James and Snow smile and do the same.

Pinocchio focusing on Henry, making sure they're in unison for the ending.

"Here goes, better throw my hand in

Wish me happy landin'

All I gotta do is jump!"

Listening to Pinocchio play the final plunging notes, I'm surprised his suggestion of tonight's plan actually worked. Nothing reminds me more of how long I've been gone from home than forgetting the healing power of music.

* * *

A/N: Of course, song credit goes to genius Alan Menken! I hope you enjoyed the fluffy chapter. I am receiving feedback that Bae now has too much of a role in a Emma/August Story, so I am planing to limit his role and conclude main his story arc next chapter. I hope that pleases everyone, but pleasing all my readers, I know, is hard. More fluffiness to come!


	10. Fists Fly From My Mouth

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Five am: Fists Fly From My Mouth As It turns South_

Five in the morning. It is five in the morning. I don't understand why we are aiding in this particular arrest so early in the day.

What is even more perplexing is why my fellow dwarf, Sleepy, is somehow wide-awake.

"Grumpy!" Sleepy nudges me as we lean against the moist underground wall. "Am I seriously the one to remind you to stay awake? Me, of all people, seriously?"

"Tell me how you are so awake this morning. You, of all people?"

"I don't know." Sleepy shrugs. "I guess I'm excited about putting him in jail, especially in the cell we made for his father. It'll be nice to give the Charming Family some piece of mind for once."

"After the news about Anna this morning, I don't know why you think putting Henry's father in jail will give them any less peace of mind," my demeaning comment comes out without much thought. I blame the hour of the day. Readjusting my position against the wall, I say, "He will just find a way out again."

"Find a way out?" Sleepy is insulted. "How can you have so little faith in our craftsmanship? If Rumpelstiltskin couldn't escape there is no way his son, who hates magic, will."

"That's not what I meant," I tell Sleepy. "That pathetic loser couldn't find a way out of here if another curse came and tore our land apart again -"

Sleepy points at me and looks at me seriously. "Don't jinx it, Grumpy."

I ignore him. "I meant that if Rumpelstiltskin created the whole curse to find his son, he is not going to sit back and watch as we lock that same son in jail."

"You haven't heard?" Sleepy gapes at me, his pointer finger dropping unconsciously. "Apparently Rumpelstiltskin wants him in here."

The idea is so laughable to me; I feel my lips upturning despite begging him for more information. "Why would he want his son in the same horrible cell that we put him in?"

Quickly, Sleepy corrects me. "No, no. Just because Rumpelstiltskin reported the crime doesn't mean he can choose what cell he goes into."

Shocked, my voice raises, "Rumpelstiltskin reported his son!"

A smile appears on Sleepy's face and he nods. "Apparently he put a magic spell on their kingdom, banning Baelfire from entering it ever again."

"Well, that makes sense," I try to stay serious, saying matter-of-factly, "Since he burned down the kingdom's wheat mill."

We look into each other's eyes, busting out laughing at the same.

"Let's go, move your feet." When we hear Prince James' commanding voice, Sleepy and I look away from each other, trying to regain our composure as the arresting party, including our five other dwarfs, enters with the prisoner.

"No. No. This is a misunderstanding." Baelfire pleads. "I didn't mean to do it, please. No one feels worse about it than I do, please. I am so sorry."

Pinocchio walks past us, pulling the rope keeping the prisoner's hands tied together. "Save your remorse for someone who cares, Bae." I've never heard Pincocchio's voice so cold before, and I live at court – I see him everyday, in every mood imaginable.

"I can explain," he pleads again. Prince James' cape brushes against my arm as he vigorously walks past me to open the cell door. "I was doing it for Henry."

"For Henry!" Pinocchio and Prince James yell together, appalled.

"Yes!" Baelfire yells back. While Pinocchio unravels Baelfire's rope, Prince James takes him by the arm, throwing Baelfire onto the floor in the cell's back corner. He uses the corner to push-off, running to the cell's door before it locked.

He reaches the door's bars and grabs hold of them just as Pinocchio secures the lock. Baelfire manages to take hold of Pinocchio's shirt collar, an action that puts all of us on alert, before Pinocchio kicks him back onto the cell's floor.

"Don't pretend you're not enjoying this!" Baelfire yells. Standing, he walks to the bars again, a place where everyone has cleared, making his desperate reaches through the bars seem pathetic. Finally, he holds on to them to steady himself. "You've been wanting to do this since you saw me at that bus station years ago."

Violently, Pinocchio takes Doc's torch from his grasp and turns to face his prisoner. "There's so much going on in my life right now that I given very little thought to your existence. While I can admit once you were a thorn in my side, now you are just a bug zooming I have pleasure in squashing." The two men stare at each other and the rest of us watch, waiting for their verbal fist match to turn ugly. "You are under some allusion that you have been more than a bug." He pauses and adds a graver tone to his voice. "You haven't been. I am not enjoying this, Baelfire, because I know how much this will upset Henry, trust me: That is the last thing I want to do."

"Henry forgave me!" Baefire exclaims. "It was a mistake! While I understand why Emma won't forgive me, how can any of you not understand making a mistake?"

Prince James crosses his arms. Putting his judge face on, he says, "You call blowing up the wheat mill a mistake?"

"What?" Baelfire says innocently. There's something about his expression, his surprise, which tells me he honestly thought we were locking him for a different crime. What crime that would be, however, I have no idea. "Blowing up the mill?" Baefire's whole posture changes from a desperate man to a cynical one. "That's what you're booking me under, really? I gave you guys more credit than that."

Suddenly, Pinocchio bursts out laughing. "You think we don't know?" He shakes his head, clearly displaying his low opinion of the man. "We are charging you right now with blowing up your Kingdom's wheat mill since we have several witness claiming that you were practicing magic that afternoon. We won't deny that child abuse is the reason your in the securest cell that exists in the land."

"I would never hurt my son!" Baefire states strongly. "It was a mistake. Henry knows that! I would never hurt him."

"Mistakes don't exist when children come back less than perfect." Prince James controls his anger when he speaks. "You must know that."

"Huh. Funny." Baelfire smiles and his words come out in a higher tone. His mocking sends shivers down my spine. "I wonder if you'd say that about your newest grandchild. Rumor has it she was born less than perfect. And yet, you're not locking up the person responsible for her condition."

The underground tunnel shakes after his words are spoken. My anger fuels my lead into the cell. My fellow dwarfs and I slam the prisoner against the rocks, holding him in position so both Anna's Father and Grandfather have a clear shot at him while we cause him pain, tightening our grasps on his body.

Pinocchio's punch has so much force behind it that it leaves Baelfire unconscious. Realizing his state, all of the dwarfs let go of him together and we watch as his pathetic figure falls in the dirt.

I don't realize the tears streaming down Pinocchio's face until I turn back from securing the lock.

Doc steps in front of Pinocchio, who is clearly trying to leave - to escape his audience, and puts his arm reassuringly on Pinocchio's. "Listen to me. It's not your fault. In no way, in medical terms or in magical terms is Anna's condition your fault. While we don't know everything about her condition, we know it had nothing to do with your Father making you out of wood – we know for sure. You can't blame yourself, Pinocchio. It won't help Emma or Anna."

Pinocchio stops fighting Doc and stands before him as a broken man. My own heart breaks for him as I watch his tears continue to flow down his cheeks.

Prince James approaches his son-in-law very slowly, placing one arm around his shoulders. I barely hear him whisper, "Let's go. The air makes it hard anyone to think straight."

Silently, the dwarfs follow the two men out of the tunnel into the darkness of the early morning.

Out of all of us, Doc looks the most heartbroken and remorseful. He stands straighter when Pinocchio breaks out of Prince James' arms to question him.

"How could you not know?" Pinocchio cries. "You are her doctor. You said my daughter was healthy."

"She was!" Doc defends himself. "And my tests are inconclusive right now, Pinocchio. I think Anna is healthy right now, despite her condition."

Anger propels Pinocchio forward, but Prince James pulls him back quickly. "Despite her condition! Despite her condition…How can you say that?"

I watch Doc as he tries to stay calm, tries to reassure a worried father. He whispers, "We just received the test results yesterday, Pinocchio. Even if Anna does have what the test show, that doesn't mean she will never speak."

Finally our world stops spinning. When Pinocchio turns in defeat from Doc, everyone lets out the breaths they did not know they were holding.

I look away from Pinocchio to watch the last star disappear into the sky.

"Odds are," Doc continues to whisper. "She will speak. Her brain just processes information differently than we do. Give your daughter a chance to show you how brilliant she is, Pinocchio."

* * *

A/N: I think I might be a little bit evil. :0!


	11. You're Down The Driveway

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eight pm: You're Down The Driveway_

Believe it or not, the jail in Storybrooke is nicer than the one at home. My previous statement is a compliment to my fellow dwarfs I'll admit it, but what the point of having talents if you can't use them to help people?

Even if the term 'helping people' really means making their prison experience horrible.

My prison experience is not horrible. It is quite the opposite, actually. How can I complain at all when, at this very second, the Sheriff is picking up a warm dinner for me and I have my favorite medical journal open beside me? I would never admit my enjoyment to anyone; despite what some people think, the dwarfs and I do not share all our secrets with each other.

Yet, the fact we know some of our fellow dwarfs' deepest secrets is how I ended up here in the first place.

"Doc." Princess Emma enters the room with her hands full. I automatically stand. I would stand if any lady entered a room or addressed me, but when it's Princess Emma, when it's the savior, I have no choice; and I wouldn't want it any other way.

"Your Highness," I greet her politely. She sighs. Her keys clunk on a desk after she places her bags of food down.

Bags of food? Why did she bring so much food into the police station? It is too much food, even for two, if she did bring dinner for herself.

Princess Emma takes a deep breath when she turns to me. Her right hand goes to her forehead to move some of her curls out of her view.

"Emma, Doc." She corrects me for the thirty-second time. "It's just Emma."

I feel like Bashful when heat creeps into my cheeks and I push my glasses further up my nose.

There is a twinkle in her eye and a warm smile breaks on her face.

"I'm sorry, Princess." I start. She approaches me, her boots tapping on the floor, with my dinner in hand. As it is eight o'clock, I won't deny I have been looking forward to dinner for two hours. Oh. No, no. It's not like that. Princess Emma was called off to an emergency just as she was taking my dinner order. "But, I could never call you by your given name."

"I don't see why not," Princess Emma hands me my dinner through the bars. "It only took twenty times of correcting them, but your other dwarfs call me by my given name, I don't why you can't."

"I'm a traditionalist." I smile at her. "I'm more proper than the rest of them."

"Ah," The Princess plays along. "So you're the gentleman of the group."

My warm smile widens at her words. She is charming, even more so than her father. I can't imagine the joy it would have been to watch her grow up.

Pushing the medical journal down my cot, I sit on the mattress and spread my food out on it. The greasy smell makes my stomach rumble as I pull out the burger, fries, and milkshake from Granny's. I take a napkin from the bottom of the paper bag. Unfolding it, I pick an edge of the square and push it down my shirt, ensuring ketchup-dripping protection.

It pays off to be close to the Sheriff's family; they give you good food in jail.

"Somebody had to be the role model for them," I say and then take my first bite of burger.

"I thought that was my Mom's job," the Princess retorts.

Her words make me choke on my burger bun. Once I've recovered, I look up to see the Princess shaking her head at me.

It's a tad humiliating.

"Wow. Something smells wonderful." My gaze darts to the station's doorway to find the Princess' fiancée, Pinocchio hanging on the vertical door molding.

"Hey!" Princess Emma stands to greet him. He uses the molding to rotate around her and pin the Princess against the wall with his body. He gives her a quick kiss and brushes a curl behind her ear. "I don't know if burgers and fries classify under a wonderful smell, but I'm glad you're hungry." The princess kisses the former puppet again before he lets her escape his entrapment.

"Ah," Pinocchio nods his head at me, acknowledging my presence. "If it isn't Storybrooke's newest thief," he says with a smile. I am not sure if he is kidding around or if he actual has resentment for the act I am doing time for. "Hello Doc," he says with a wink.

I raise my hand, showing him my palm in greeting. Pinocchio lets out a laugh; I am not sure if it is at my style of greeting or at my paper bib. Either way, I'm glad he doesn't seem to be upset. I wouldn't blame him if he was - realizing that the person basically we stole from is the closest person he has to a mother.

I close my eyes and shake my head. I can't add any more guilt to my conscious right now.

Pinocchio takes his seat across the desk from the Princess. It is strange that they picked the desk closest to my cell to have their dinner. I know Princess Snow probably asked her daughter to include me, but I am not sure that meant being me on as third wheel on her date.

Once Pinocchio is settled, finding a comfortable position in a cushioned chair and taking a sip of his soda, he says, "Henry did great today."

Princess Emma lights up at her son's name. "He did?"

"Uh-huh." Pinocchio says in between bites. "I don't know why you were so worried about it."

"I'm his mother. It's my job to worry."

"Emma." he says her name in a more demeaning tone than I think necessary. "My Father and I are sailors. Jiminy was with us. Nothing was ever going to happen to him."

"Pinocchio." Princess Emma mimics his tone of her name. "In your last sailing voyage you and your Father got eaten by a whale."

Smiling, Pinocchio levels the Princess with her eyes. "That was a just a good old boat, not a sailboat."

The Princess rolls her eyes at him and says, "Same difference."

"Very big difference, actually." Pinocchio takes another bite of burger, reminding me to do the same. "Whales don't like sailboats," He winks at her. "The mast is horrible to swallow. So, actually, you had no reason to worry."

"Just so you know," She tells him. "If I had actually been worried, my son would not have gone out sailing with your family."

I watch thoughts pass through Pinocchio's head, his eyebrows furrowing. "So, wait, let me get this straight: You don't trust your fiancée with your son."

Emma's lights up again, amused by his words. "That's not exactly what I said."

Pinocchio places his burger back on its paper bag. "So, then, what did you mean, Princess?"

A small laugh escapes her lips. "I had faith in you keeping my son safe despite your track record with water vessels."

Pinocchio crosses his arms, his eyebrows furrowing further. "That doesn't sound much better."

The Princess giggles a very un-princess like giggle and places her palm on Pinocchio's cheek. "I love you."

"Uh-huh," Pinocchio lets out, clearly annoyed. He tilts his head out of her touch and redirects his attention to his food.

There is silence in the police station again. Finally. It surprises how much I appreciate silence each time it falls upon my ears. It is like a breath of fresh air, like a sound of relief.

Noise of alleviation.

Breath of fresh air.

Yes, even if they are horrible, doctors can make jokes too.

It takes both the Princess and Pinocchio looking up at me from their food for me to realize I am laughing aloud.

Blood flows into my cheeks and I remind myself of Bashful again. I pick up my medical journal to cover my face. Touching my nose and too close to my glasses is an article entitled, "The Degrees of the Spectrum: Understanding Today's Biggest Medical Mystery." I'm grateful the journal covers my face, because now I am laughing and blushing at the same time – and that is simply the worst.

I hear Pinocchio's voice, "What's so funny, Doc?"

Then the Princess', "I know it can't be that boring medical journal, so whatever it is, spit it out."

My medical journal is not boring. Thank you very much.

I slam the journal flat on the mattress, which does not have the effect I was hoping for. My gaze falls on the Princess' and she holds it there; examining me as if laughing was some sort of crime.

The Princess breaks our contact to look at Pinocchio. They silently communicate – emulating the same posture and expression as they stand from their dinners to approach me at the same time.

Princess Emma starts, "I didn't know Doc, of the Seven Dwarfs, was known for keeping secrets."

Pinocchio follows her, "It must be a strain on you, keeping all these secrets: The funny jokes, the person you were stealing for, why you stole magic fairy dust in the first place," Pinocchio shrugs. "Why you're a doctor without a doctor's office."

Even though they are making fun of me, I know they are just kids having fun. They are making me uncomfortable, however. Standing, I push my glasses further up my nose and cross my arms, preparing myself for their further interrogation.

"Doc," Princess Emma says seriously. "I just want to help you. The sooner you tell me what happened, who you were stealing the mining dust, fairy dust, whatever, for, the sooner you can go."

"Technically," I remind her. "I am released in two days, so I don't have to tell you anything."

"That's true." The Princess confirms. "Or you could tell me what happened now and you could enjoy the rest of your night as a free man."

I remain silent.

"Huh." She smirks and turns to Pinocchio. "Dwarf loyalty. Who knew?"

I feel blood boiling under my skin. I step closer to the bars. "What makes you think I'm covering for another dwarf?"

Pinocchio points to Princess Emma, which is very rude. "She can tell when anyone is lying."

I look from half of the couple to the other. "Suddenly I understand why you two are together," I say and then hate myself. How dare I be rude to royalty? My heart drops. "I am so sorry."

The Princess does not acknowledge my apology. "I know you are covering for another dwarf because you were caught at midnight in a unlit driveway handing off a bag of dust to someone else. Dwarfs are the only creatures that find fairy dust. I asked you if you stole the dust and you lied."

"I told you I did not steal the dust and I didn't." I defend my actions. "We mined for the dust so it is technically ours."

Princess Emma crosses her arms. "You sure like your technicalities."

"Technicalities are everything to doctors." I tell her.

"Doc, magic dust is in short supply right now." Princess Emma states. "We can't have the dwarfs mining for the stuff giving it away."

"I understand that." I tell her simply.

She raises her eyebrows. "That's all you have to say?"

We stare at each other for a moment. The part of me begging me to please authority screams inside my head, but I can't make it happy.

Not this time.

With a short nod to the couple, I turn towards my cot, careful not to have my back fully towards a royal.

Sitting on my cot, I pick up my medical journal to cover my face again. Instead of its words screaming out to me, my eyes automatically shut. When they do, Grumpy's image suddenly appears.

If it weren't for him, him and his novice fairy, none of this would have happened.

* * *

A/N: I never thought I would write this but right now, Doc is definitely my favorite dwarf :)! Readers will be "enlightened" about Anna's condition in very special way next vignette (There might be a hint about it from Doc above, can you find it?). I'm so excited!


	12. I'm On The Couch

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eight am: I'm On The Couch_

There is a block on the puzzle shelf. It is not supposed to be there. Blocks do not belong on shelves. Blocks belong in buckets.

"Anna," Dad says my name.

It is blue block.

"Can you focus on your puzzle, Anna?" I hear Mom's voice from behind me. Her arms are around my belly. We are touching.

No touching during puzzles. It is a rule.

I find the correct shaped puzzle piece. I put into its place.

"Good job, Anna!" Dad says.

There is a block on the puzzle shelf. Blocks do not belong on shelves.

"Can you find the next piece?" Mom says. "Where does the next piece go?"

Mom is touching me. No touching during puzzles. It is a rule.

I run from her to the window. There is frost on the window. I touch it.

"Well," Dad says. "She was able to do half the puzzle that time."

I pull myself up on the window bench. My finger can make a pattern on the window.

"She isn't done, August." I can make another pattern on the window. "Are you, Anna?" Mom's hands are around me. She picks me up. She takes me to the puzzle. I am away from the frosted window. "Where does the next piece go?"

There is a block on the shelf. There is a pattern on the window.

"Focus, Anna." Mom says.

The puzzle is full of different shapes. I have to find the right two shapes that go together. There is too much color on the puzzle.

"Match the piece to its picture, Anna. Look at the picture on the box and then find the piece that looks the same."

I push the box to the floor.

"Well, that's definitely one way of expressing herself," Dad says.

"I don't understand how she can do the puzzle without looking at the box." Mom says.

"It obviously works for her." Dad says. "That's all that matters, right?"

"I don't understand it, August."

It is loud. I run to the window. I run to the door. I run back to the window.

"Great," Mom says.

Mom says my running is great. I keep running from the window to door.

"Anna, come back and finish your puzzle please," Dad says.

There is a pattern on the window. There is a block on the shelf.

It is a blue block.

"Anna," Mom says my name. It is loud.

I jump up. Once. Twice.

"Anna, calm down." Mom says.

I look back at the blue block. Her face is not nice to look at.

Blocks do not belong on puzzle shelves. Puzzles and blocks are different.

"Thank you," she says. "Can we try the puzzle again?"

She lifts me to the puzzle table. Her arms are around me. No touching during puzzles. It is a rule.

I push her away from me.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Anna." Mom says.

"Just let her work, Emma." Dad says.

"She needs to have safe hands, August." Mom says.

"I am not going to get mad at her for expressing herself." Dad says.

"She needs to learn somehow." Mom says.

I find a shape that fits into another. I put it in the puzzle. I look at the collection of unmatched pieces.

"Good working, Anna." Dad says.

The collection is full of all different shapes.

"Good morning," Doc says. He walks in the room. "Hi, Anna." He bends down to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder.

No touching during puzzles.

I run back and forth, from the table to the door.

"Anna," Dad says my name. "Can I have a hug?"

His arms are open. I run into them. He lifts me up. I'm on the couch with him in his arms. Dad looks at me. I reach up to touch the hair on his face. It is soft.

He kisses my hair.

"Anna," he turns my body around. I see Doc. Dad's nose touches my cheek. "Can you say hi to Doc?" He whispers.

I move to touch the hair on his face.

Dad pulls me away from him. He moves me. I see Doc. "Say hi, sweetie."

Doc has not moved. He is kneeling on the floor. Doc is very short.

"Hi," I say.

"Thank you, Anna." Doc says. "That was a very nice greeting."

My puzzle is not done. Puzzles need to be put together.

I run from Dad to my puzzle table. I look at the different shaped pieces.

"She's doing so much better." Doc says. "Look at her working on, is that a 40 piece puzzle? That's great. And she's talking more and more. Henry told me she played with him for half an hour without a break yesterday. Anna has made so much progress in six months. It's incredible to watch."

"Henry's great with her," Dad says.

"Anna is six years old and barely talking, Doc." Mom says. "I'd hardly call that progress."

"She's talking more than she was, Princess." Doc says. "It is progress in the right direction."

"What else can we do to help her continue talking?" Mom says.

"Just continue talking to her. Don't expect her to respond. It is a long process. She'll get there eventually, Princess." Doc says.

Doc comes to my puzzle table. He looks at me. I am working on my puzzle.

Doc holds up a puzzle piece full of color. "What color is this, Anna? What color is the puzzle piece? Can you tell me?"

I find the shaped-piece I was looking for. I fit into the puzzle.

"Okay, too many questions. I'm sorry, Anna." Doc points to my puzzle. "What color is the barn?"

His finger is on a red color. "Red." I say.

"Good, Anna." He touches my shoulder. "Very good, sweetie."

No touching during puzzles. I move away from him.

"Did she answer you, Doc?" Mom says. "She whispers so quietly, I barely hear her sometimes."

"Yes, she did." Doc says. "With the right answer too."

"Hi Jiminy," Dad says.

I turn. The bug is here. I run to catch him.

"Hi Anna," The bug says. "You are very energetic for eight in the morning." I touch his umbrella. "Whoa, watch it. Not uncle's special umbrella."

The bug flies higher. I watch him. He continues to look at me. I try to match how his face looks like.

"Aren't you supposed to be working on your puzzle, Princess Anna? We are all here to watch you, not the other way around." The bug says.

The bug flies near a shelf. There is a block on the puzzle shelf. Blocks do not belong on shelves.

"Focus, Anna." The bug says. He flies closer to me. "Focus on the puzzle."

The collection of pieces is smaller. The shapes are more spread out. I find another matching piece.

"What are you doing here, Jiminy?" Mom says.

"He can be here, Emma. It's okay." Dad says.

I find one more matching piece.

"We're in the middle of an assessment with Doc." Mom says.

"Oh? Are you?" The bug says. "I'm so sorry, Emma. Excuse me."

The bug flies towards the door.

I stop working on my puzzle.

"No. No." Mom says. She is loud. "You can't leave now. We've been through this."

I follow the bug into the hall. I jump to touch him.

"Oh, Anna." Jiminy says. "I did forget. You like to follow me, don't you?"

"Anna." Mom and Dad say my name at the same time.

I jump at the bug.

"Jiminy, we've told you a thousand times." Mom says. "You can't just leave when Anna sees you, she becomes obsessed with you and has a hard time transitioning when you leave."

I touch his umbrella. He laughs.

Then I laugh.

"Jiminy." Mom says.

"Yes. I'm so sorry I forgot. You did tell me. I will remember, Emma." The bug says.

"Perhaps you wouldn't forget if you experienced her reaction when you left." Mom says.

"Emma, that's not fair." Dad says. "It was a honest mistake."

"It's not a honest mistake if he's heard it so many times."

Dad moves under the bug. He's arms are out towards me. "Anna, can I have a hug? Come give Dad a hug."

I look at the bug. He doesn't move. He is green.

"Bug." I say.

"Yes, Anna. Jiminy is a bug. Good job." Dad says. He takes my hand. "The bug has to go now, though. Can you say bye to the bug?"

"Bug," I say.

"Anna, say bye-bye bug."

He holds my hand tight. "Bye-bye Bug." I say.

"Bye-bye, Anna." The bug says.

The bug flies away and Dad stands.

"Time to go back, Anna. Can we go back into the nursery?" Dad says.

"Bug." I say.

"Puzzle." Dad says. "Time to finish puzzle."

"Puzzle." I say.

"Yes. Puzzle. Good." Dad pulls my hand towards the room. I follow him.

I see my unfinished puzzle. Puzzles need to be finished. I run to my puzzle table.

The pieces are shapes. Match the shapes and put them together.

"See, that wasn't so bad." Dad says.

"How did you do that?" Mom says.

"You said she has a hard time transitioning." Dad says.

"Yeah. I've said that before, though." Mom says.

"Okay, well. You just have to prepare her for the transition." Dad says.

"Oh, just like that? Why didn't you tell me that before?" Mom says.

"I had no idea it would work. We're all learning I guess." Dad says.

There is one more piece to the puzzle. There is only one place it can go.

I put it in.

Doc is clapping. "Good job, Anna."

He is clapping. I clap too.

Mom puts her arms around me and lifts me up. "You finished the puzzle, Anna, all by yourself. Mommy is so proud of you."

Mom's curls fall in my face. I grab them. There are soft.

"You like Mommy's hair, don't you Anna?" Mom says.

She turns. I look at the puzzle shelf.

There is a block on the puzzle shelf. It is not supposed to be there. Blocks do not belong on shelves. Blocks belong in buckets.

* * *

A/N: I'm in love with Anna! I know her POV is very different and out there. There is something very specific going on with her; her words/thoughts/actions are very intentional.


	13. Chasing Your Dreams

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Three pm: Chasing Your Dreams (Since The Violent Fifth Grade)_

I wonder if Geppetto spends so much time in his workshop to avoid dealing with something else in his life. He claims it is because his toys aren't selling in Storybrooke and he wants to make them more suitable to American small town shoppers.

Maybe his strategy would have worked before the curse was broken, but now the town seems to be expecting his traditional, classical toys; A toy made with touch of magic, to remind them of home.

"I never made my toys with magic at home, Jiminy. Why would I start now?" Geppetto asks, as if reading my thoughts. It's not hard to do, given we've had the argument – debate - several times now.

"I'm just worried about you." I whisper.

Geppetto freezes. He stops sawing wood, pausing mid-cut to look up at me. His eyes rise just above the wood slab and I meet them with my own, trying to convey my genuine concern. "Don't be."

After another serious, half-annoyed look, Geppetto returns to his work.

I turn from him when its clear he has nothing left to say. Letting out a sigh of frustration, I close my eyes. Out of all the people in Storybrooke, all the lost souls who are trying to reconcile two identities together, Geppetto is one who I would have trouble helping even if he would let me – which of course he doesn't.

Some experts, I'm sure, would say that I'm too close to him to help him. No matter how many times I go over it in my head, though, I always have the same response, 'It's not like we're that close anymore.' I am able to step back from whatever friendship we have and see the broken man before me.

"I just think you should adjust your toys to appeal to your audience. The townspeople lived without magic for 28 years. Doesn't it make sense to offer them toys full of hope and magic, especially now, when the town has so little?"

He continues to work, not acknowledging I've said anything at all. I pick up my beer, once cold and now warm from the afternoon heat, and wonder why the picture of him working before me is so…strange.

Someone is missing.

Pinocchio has been good about spending time working with his Father in his workshop. My forehead creases when I realize he's not here. I wonder if something specific has driven him away or if he just had other plans this afternoon.

No, no. Despite his reputation for being selfish, which I know better to dispute, I also know after 28 years of being apart, Pinocchio wouldn't miss working beside his Father unless he had a good reason.

"Where's Pinocchio?" I try to ask casually.

Without looking up from his work, Geppetto answers simply. "With Emma and Henry."

"Something special going on with them?"

"No." Geppetto takes the freshly cut board and places it on his worktable. "They came over this morning to take him on an outing."

"An outing?" I ask suspiciously. "And you didn't think to tell him you needed his help working today?"

Geppetto completely stops working. He slams the board further away from him down the table. He crosses his arms when he looks at me. "I don't need his help, Jiminy. I've been running my shop by myself during the curse and at home before I made Pinocchio. So, no, I didn't think to tell him I needed his help. He is a grown, engaged man, I am not going to stop him from spending time with his future family."

"Forgive me," I say. "Perhaps it is me who still sees him as a little boy."

"And your relationship with him would be so much better if you didn't." Geppetto picks a different tool and begins carving the piece of wood. "Trust me."

His words catch me off guard. It's not very often Geppetto tells me off in such a calm, collective manner.

"Why?" Suddenly, I'm nervous. "Did he say something?"

After a deep breath, Geppetto exhales, "Yes." We make eye contact briefly, just long enough for him to communicate the gravity his implication. "But he didn't have to, I knew."

Still a little hurt, I can't help asking, "How?"

"I'm his Father, Jiminy. It's my job to know."

I put my beer back on an empty shelf in the workshop and approach him. I lean against his worktable. "What did he say?"

Geppetto sighs. He takes the tools that are close to my hand and moves them to the opposite side of his table. "Pinocchio said you're trying to be his conscious again-"

"I'm-!"

Geppetto lifts his palm to stop me from defending myself. When I see his disappointed expression, my lips seal. "After hearing your disappointment in him because he's out with Emma and Henry instead of helping me, I don't blame him."

Maybe it's true I can't help him because our friendship blinds me, but our friendship definitely doesn't prevent his ability to see right through me.

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

A smile breaks on Geppetto's face. He shares it with me before picking up his tools again. "Don't tell me, Jiminy. Tell Pinocchio."

"No. That's not what I meant." I tell him honestly. "I'm sorry I've been encouraging you to change your shop. You're a toymaker. You should make your toys the way you feel comfortable. Who I am to tell you I know better?"

He picks up his tools and tells me casually, "You're Jiminy Cricket. You're the conscious. You wouldn't be you without trying to help or expressing your opinion."

Is his statement how everyone would describe me? While I love my job, I don't want it to be an excuse for people to describe my annoying behavior.

Oh, gosh. Annoying behavior.

I need a hobby.

"Okay," I start, trying to regroup. "Lets start a new topic."

Geppetto laughs. I am not sure if it's at me or with me, but I almost don't care. "Did you hear that Doc stole some fairy dust from the mine a couple of days ago?"

Yes. Of course I knew that, I am the town shrink. Besides people complaining to me about the stolen dust in there therapy sessions, Grumpy came by to confess his crime to me himself. I smile, if only I was allow to share his confession – Doc would not have spent time in jail and the townspeople would be mad at the right dwarf instead of an innocent one.

And…The Blue Fairy and I would have something really juicy to talk about on our lunch dates.

Or…erm…lunch meetings.

"Jiminy?" Geppetto's voice brings me back to the present.

"Yeah? Yeah, the whole town has been talking about it."

"Why would Doc steal fairy dust? It doesn't make sense. It's so out of character for him. He's the voice of reason of their gang…Why would he set this kind of example for the rest of them?"

I shrug, trying to act casual. "He's also the most loyal of their group."

Once again, Geppetto stops his work to focus his attention on me. "Do you know something?"

Know something like Grumpy is actually the one who stole the fairy dust. And that he did it to help Nova, who The Blue Fairy has – apparently – been preventing her from making progress on her fairy godmother goal. And that Grumpy and Nova have started a secret romance against the Blue Fairy's orders…or more like behind her back, because as far as I know, she doesn't know about it – like kind of something?

"No…" I lie to Geppetto.

"Jiminy!" He exclaims, nudging my elbow. "Tell me."

"Hey!" I turn at a small familiar voice. Henry runs further into the garage from the driveway. "We're back!"

"Hey Henry," Geppetto says, watching him take a seat at his worktable. "Did you guys have a good time at – where did you go?"

"We went to the beach." Henry picks up a wooden car with plastic wheels and rolls it around on the desk before letting it run off the table. "And then they took me ring shopping."

"Ring shopping?" I ask surprised. "That must have been terrible."

"It was alright." Henry shrugs. "We only went into one shop. Mom liked one or two, but Pinocchio said they weren't good enough so we left."

"I thought they wanted to wait to do everything for the wedding until we're home." Geppetto comments to Henry. "I'm not surprised they didn't find anything in Storybrooke, nothing here is quite magical enough."

I wonder if Geppetto is referring to rings or his toys, but I choose not to say anything.

"Oh, they found the ring they wanted." Henry explains. "Just not in a store."

Before my mind goes somewhere I don't want it to – like robbery, I try to clarify, "Where did they-"

"Grumpy found us as we were walking out of the store. He said since he couldn't make Grandma's ring, he and the other dwarfs wanted to make her daughter's."

My forehead creases again. "How does Grumpy even know about the engagement? I thought they didn't want people to know."

"Grandma told Grumpy. He promised he wouldn't tell anyone."

"Yeah," I look away from Henry and Geppetto. "He's good at keeping secrets."

"What?" Henry asks innocently.

Geppetto's gaze forces me to look at him. "What?" He asks me directly and sharply.

"Nothing."

Geppetto leans in closer to me. With a smile he whispers, "Tell me later?" and then winks.

I step back from him. "No!" What are we, teenage girls who spill every secret they have? "I keep patient-client confidentially. Thank you very much!"

Henry literally jumps at my words. "Grumpy is one of your patients?"

Oh, darn it. Before I can metaphorically beat myself up for blurting out, I watch Henry's smile widen.

His smile is not one of glee, necessarily, but more one of empathy – of inclusion. After all those sessions between the two of us, I forgot to remind Henry of how is one of many patients I see, that everyone needs help in one or another…that I was Jiminy Cricket after all.

My urge to hug him is only stopped by the appearance of his Mother and Pinocchio, who are holding hands as they come up the driveway.

"Hey," Geppetto lights up when he sees his son. "Heard you found a ring."

Pinocchio and Emma look at each other. "Not yet," Emma says. "Pinocchio has to see and approve it before we're officially done looking."

Pinocchio spreads his free hand across his chest. "Only I have to approve it? Don't you want your say?" He half teases her.

"No," Emma tugs at their entangled fingers. "I trust you. I want it to be a surprise."

"Really?" Pinocchio turns to face her. "Since when?"

"Since we went ring shopping together." I can't see Pinocchio's face, but Emma's is one of beautiful wonder. A gust of wind blows her hair back, making her omniscient, confident smile even more pronounced. "Surprise me with Grumpy's ring, okay?"

Even from behind him, I can tell Pinocchio is smiling before he leans in to give Emma a sweet kiss. "Okay," he whispers.

While they're embracing, Henry takes interest in a wooden structure in the back corner of the garage. I know he knows he is making mischief when I see the sneaky expression in his eyes.

Geppetto is too distracted watching his son to notice Henry. I walk over to the corner silently and watch Henry take the blanket off the structure – it igniting my curiosity as well.

Under the old sheet is Geppetto's newest masterpiece, a cuckoo clock carved in a miniature of Snow White's castle, a swan preparing to come out of its tower to announce the top of the hour.

* * *

A/N: Anna (The Reviewer) I love you, I love you too! Thanks for such a passionate review. I can't answer your questions because I can't message you, but some of them will be answered next vignette. To everyone else, I'm so touched that my writing was clear enough so that everyone guessed the same diagnoses! As to Grumpy/Nova and Blue Fairy/Jiminy, I think all kinds of trouble can start brewing...THANKS SO MUCH. :)


	14. Trying To Believe

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Three am: Trying To Believe In Your Silent Own Way_

I gave up trying to sleep when my cuckoo clock notified me it was midnight. For the last two hours, I have been in my workshop, staring at the night sky, trying to find the magic that once existed here.

A noise startles me from my daydream. I blink and find one of my popular wooden cars has rolled to the floor. My back aches when I bend down to pick it up. Usually, I would just place it back on my desk. Now, though, I examine it, running my fingers over its backside.

My granddaughter likes wheels.

She seems to like any toy that goes back and forth or moves in a repetitive motion.

Flipping the car over, I begin to drive the toy car up and down my arm. Other than the plastic wheels feeling nice on my skin, I can't understand what attracts Anna to become obsessed with the car for hours on end.

I wish I did, though; then, making toys for her would be so much easier.

"I saw your light on," I hear my son's whisper from behind me. The wooden car drops to the floor again. Turning to greet him, I am met with another surprise: He has Anna awake in his arms. "What are you doing up so late?"

I jump up at the sight. Excitedly, I take Anna out of Pinocchio's arms. She holds on to me automatically and rests her little head on my shoulder. "Rather early in the morning now, than late at night." After admiring Anna for another moment or two, kissing her hair and stroking her arm, I turn my attention to my son who is dressed in his pajamas. "What are you doing up?"

Pinocchio moves further into my workshop before answering my question. He picks up the wooden car and places it back on my desk. He rolls it around for a few moments before turning back to me. "I woke up to find Anna playing with her train in her crib. I just sat there watching her for I don't know how long-"

"Trying to figure out what she loves so much about it?" I finish his thought, knowing I would do exactly the same if I had the chance.

My son finally makes eye contact with me. "Something like that," he whispers. Pinocchio holds my gaze for a moment longer than he usually does. In that moment, I notice the familiar glossy coat to his eyes; the same coat that has covered them for months now, ever since we heard the news about Anna.

My heart breaks looking at him. "Oh, my boy." I walk closer to him. He bows his head so I can more easily kiss his hair. "It'll get better, I promise you."

Sharply, Pinocchio looks up. "You can't promise me that!" His tone of voice takes me aback.

"No, no," I address him softly. "That's not what I meant." I take a deep breath, hoping my next words won't make him more upset. "I just meant, the more time you spend with Anna and her diagnosis, the easier it will become. It won't be such a heavy weight on your chest."

Pinocchio takes a deep breath, places his palm on Anna's backside, and whispers. "So you believe Doc's diagnosis, then? You think it's Autism?"

"Oh," escapes my lips without my permission. Anna squirms in my arms. Before bending down to let her explore, I check my workshop floor for any unsafe hazards. I smile when her feet touch the ground, feeling her excitement as my hold on her loosens.

For a silent moment, both of us just Anna. She wobbles to different corners of the room, finding hidden toys I've long forgotten and taking them out to play. I wonder if she is looking for something specific, as her attention to each toy does not hold for long.

Turning back to my son, I realize he is still waiting for my answer. With another deep breath, I try to collect my thoughts before speaking…I never thought there was much debate about her diagnosis. Somehow it always made sense to me. Anna is three and half now and shows no signs of even wanting to talk. Anna takes no interest in other toddlers her age. The only person she seems to have a deeper connection to is Henry.

Instead of sharing my thoughts, I turn my question around on my son. The parenting technique is something Prince James and I have discussed many times; it seems to work well with both Emma and Pinocchio. "Do you?" I ask simply.

"Yes…No…I don't know." Pinocchio's words come out choppy. My forehead creases as I listen to his struggle. "While all her behaviors fit Doc's Autism diagnosis – well as much as we can understand about it – there's one aspect of our situation doesn't fit at all."

Our gazes collide again. "What's that?" I whisper.

His quicker pace of talking makes his whispers louder. "Emma and I are both natives of the Enchanted forest. When put together, our DNA forms a magical bond, just as her parents' did. There is no other child, at least that is known, in this world that has Autism or anything like it. So how, after everything, can Doc's diagnosis make sense?"

"Well," I say cautiously. "In your list of explanations, you're forgetting another possibility that could put end to your doubts."

The possibility he is forgetting is one we have discussed as a larger family, but never between the two of us. My son's avoidance of the topic only shows me his fear that it might be true.

Instead of addressing my concerns, Pinocchio breaks our connection to watch his daughter. I follow his gaze to find Anna pulling down a bin of colored pencils, causing them to spill out. Slowly, she grabs one of my toy designs that fell to the floor and starts drawing all over it, most of her work ending up on my floorboards.

As soon as he registers her actions, Pinocchio tries to approach his daughter. "Anna! No!"

Calmly, I put my arm out to stop him. "She's fine. Let her color."

He looks back at me with outrage. "She's coloring on your toy designs! On your floor!"

"It's okay," I whisper and I lower my arm. "It's okay. Let her explore for a little while."

After switching his sights between his Father and daughter, my son finally leans back against a wall and closes his eyes.

I lean my shoulder next to him on. Examining his face, I watch his eyelids drift downwards. For the first time since Anna was diagnosed, my son looks at peace. I smile, whispering, "Feels good to let go, doesn't it?"

Pinocchio turns to me before opening his eyes. Some of the gloss in them has faded. There's a softer expression to his features now. When I watch his eyes widen, I know my son is finally ready to utter the words he has been so afraid to speak. "You're saying because Emma and I grew up in a world where Autism exists, it makes it possible for our daughter to have it, even though she was born here."

My heart swells for him; for the breakthrough he just had. Tears of pride pour down my face, but I ignore them – focusing all my attention on my son.

His face is filled with a completely different type of emotion; pain, and heartbreak, and incurable sadness. I blink and search his face again. Through the contours of his face, though, I can find a hint of a smile. Pinocchio looks at Anna; nothing but love in his expression.

I reach to kiss his hair again and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. His peaceful look returns to him once again.

"The causes of Autism are unknown, son; in that world or in this one. Dwelling on explanations," I shrug after taking a deep breath. "Is not going to get you very far."

Pinocchio's only response is to stand straighter, fixing his gaze on Anna.

Keeping his attention to his daughter, he announces, "Emma says it happened because I'm selfish… Because of my selfish personality, my daughter has a condition that makes like me."

I gasp in shock. I can't help it. Once I calm down, and readjust to my level head, I find tears running down my son's face. Violently, I grab his face between my two palms. "Look at me, son." I wait until he does. "Emma is grieving. She too is searching for explanations that don't exist. Don't hold it against her. Don't blame yourself. Let time heal your wounds, it always does."

Pinocchio breaks out of my hold. Wiping the tears off his cheeks, he crouches down to Anna's height. He grabs hold of her while she's running past him. He lifts her up as he stands. Anna reaches out to touch her Father's mustache.

When Pinocchio smiles, so does Anna.

I've never seen her do that before.

"See, there's hope." I whisper. "Look at how she watches you, mirroring your every expression." I turn so I'm face to face with my son. "I don't ever want to hear that my son or granddaughter is selfish. No one watching your interaction would use that word to describe either of you."

Silence.

"Okay?" I demand his confirmation.

"Okay." Pinocchio whispers.

* * *

A/N: I feel like addressing the fallout of Tallahassee next vignette. Anybody game?


	15. Cause We'll Be Okay

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Two-Oh-Six pm: 'Cause We'll Be Okay, I'm Not Going Away (Or Tallahassee Part 1)_

If Henry's excited voice traveled through Granny's back door, I would have known better than to enter it. I am not sure what I was thinking anyway, daring to enter such a public place in broad daylight.

"Ogres? Really? How big were they?" Henry can't hold in his excitement, practically jumping in the booth around the entire Charming family.

The. Entire. Charming. Family.

My heart races, my breath shortens, my hands return to the door's handle, preparing to escape the situation unnoticed.

The only problem is my feet won't move.

I wonder if my immobility has to do with my new resolution to be a new man, one that is unselfish and brave, a resolution I made after magic gave me my life back.

I discredit my theory after I look up from my frozen feet and see her staring at me; caught frozen just like me.

"Emma?" Henry questions his Mother's silence. "I mean, Mom."

I smile at Henry's cuteness. Emma's doesn't it, however. My opportunity for escaping is quickly slipping away…especially since Henry and his grandparents have just turned to follow her eye line.

Damnit.

"Hey!" Henry yells at me. "Where have you been?"

My feet still won't move, but my mind can register Henry's avoidance of my name – at least so far.

Is my hope to remain anonymous selfish?

Henry's warm smile is welcoming, especially after he says, "We've been looking for you."

Emma blinks after Henry's words. I do the same. Then, I see Prince James' confused expression and Snow White's friendly one.

Watching Snow White's expression makes me a little sick. I can't help myself from looking back at Emma. She is staring at me again.

"Where have you been?" Henry asks again. "Your Father has been looking for you." His impatience for my answer gives me no opportunity to escape now.

Besides, leaving now would not be the brave decision, would it?

Slowly, I approach their booth, noting Emma's eyes are following me the whole time. With my hands in my pockets, I say, "Hi Henry."

Before he has a chance to greet me in return, or in order to prevent her son from saying anything more, Emma finally speaks. "You." She announces.

"Me." Is only response I have.

For a moment, or I don't know how much time passes actually, we stare at each other and everyone else disappears. While I look down at her, she looks up at me. I try to figure out what she's thinking, but all I do is realize how grateful I am to see her again.

When our moment passes, she announces. "You died in my arms."

The way she says her words is heartbreaking. They're quiet and tender and…have more emotion than I ever thought possible – at least concerning that particular event in our relationship.

It silent around the booth; Emma still waiting for my response and the rest of her family still shocked by her words. Snow White watches the heartbreak on her daughter's face while her husband switches between us, trying to catch on to our unspoken context.

I have several responses to her words; none of them now seem appropriate, though. Instead of speaking, I stand before her like an idiot, trying to choose my words carefully. In my silence, a single tear slides down her cheek.

The sight causes tears to form behind my eyes as well; my chest swelling in heartbreak. The only word I can say is "Emma."

"You died in my arms and left me here alone." She whispers.

"He died?" Henry tugs his mom's shirt, but she ignores him. "What happened?"

"Emma," Prince James tries to calm his daughter as well, but she ignores him too.

Emma keeps her eyes locked on mine. "You left me alone and now you're here...After everything, you just show up when everything's returning to normal…"

We can't have the conversation she wants to have here, in front of her parents. So I suggest, "Can we talk alone for a minute?" Finally managing to speak a sentence.

She doesn't respond to my request, instead she announces, "I don't like men who die in my arms."

Her announcement shocks me, but I'm sure I don't show it. I don't the specifics of what happened to her since the curse broke, but she's more willing to show her emotions than ever before.

"I don't like them either," I tell her simply.

The teardrop finishes falling down her face and disappears. When it does, her anger starts to appear. Anger is more like the response I was expecting her to have upon seeing me. "Henry and I were looking for you. Where have you been?" She demands my answer.

I watch her anger growing, knowing it's not to the point yet where I know it could reach, I ask again. "I really need to talk to alone for a minute." I tell her.

Snow White leans in closer to her daughter and makes eye contact with me, "We're happy to leave you guys alone for a moment."

Before I have a chance to thank her, Emma speaks over both of us, "They're going kill you when they find out what you did."

Yes, good Emma, I note sarcastically. Your announcement is so much better than my plan to talk about it privately. Let's have this conversation here, in front of your parents who you just admitted were going to kill me.

Wait, only they are going to kill me? Meaning you, Emma, are not? How is that even possible? How could you know all the facts now, and not want to kill me?

Or you know, never speak to me again, which in this instance, is basically the same thing.

Suddenly, from some distance part of brain, buried deep inside its creases, I am reminded to be brave. "Well, do you want to tell them or should I?"

In her angry voice, Emma tells me, "Neither of us actually." Adding even more emphasis to her words, she says again, "Since I don't like men dying in my arms."

In a concerned voice, Prince James enters our conversation. "What's going on?"

"Really!" Emma uses her usual word of frustration and slams her palms on the table, pushing herself to a standing position. "We'll be right back."

Unexpectedly, Emma grabs hold of my leather jacket and pulls me through Granny's and out her back door.

Once we're alone, Emma turns to face me. We're frozen for a moment; looks of regret and sorrow on both of our faces as our breaths come out in puffs in the December air.

And then she slaps me.

Hard. Straight across my face. The pain is excruciating.

But I deserve it.

Before my hand even has time reach my cheek to sooth the pain, Emma is already yelling at me. "What is your problem?"

So here it comes, the reaction I've been waiting for. I reposition my body in preparation for it. "I have many problems, Emma. That's why I turned to wood in the first place."

"Bullshit, August." She crosses her arms. "You don't get to use your excuses anymore, not after everything that's happened."

"I'm sorry-" I start, but she doesn't let me finish.

"Where have you been?" She yells over me.

I wait for a second, for us both to calm down, and for me to regain my thoughts. "I tried to look for you, to protect you, but then I was kidnapped."

Her eyes turn to slits. "Kidnapped?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter." We're not diving into that discussion now. "What matters is I intended to go after you, to help bring you and your mother back to Storybrooke and I'm sorry."

One of many apologies I owe her.

"Don't you know anything?" She questions me harshly. "What you intend doesn't matter."

Verbal slap number two.

"On that note," I pull my wallet out from my back pocket. "I wanted to give you this." I hand her the check I've been carrying around with me since I've arrived to Storybrooke. "I've been waiting to give this to you until you understood what happened - until he said anything about it."

"Who said anything about what?" Emma takes my check violently. Other than her eyes widening at the large number, she shows no reaction. I'm confused, and so is she. "What the hell is this? 'Thank you for breaking the curse money'?"

"No." My eyebrows furrow, stepping back I reposition my body again. "That's the money I owe you – I'm sorry."

"Money you owe me?" She looks down at the check again, her forehead creasing. "What are you talking about?"

A smart person, in this moment, would have figured out something better to say. There is probably something I could have thought of to save myself, but my words escape before I have a chance. "You know, from Bae."

"Who?" Emma is so confused, she forgets her mission to yell at me.

"Neal." I remember the name he told her it was.

Emma steps back. I prepare myself for another yelling match, but on second look, her expression is not like the one she had at our tree. It's exactly like the one she had when I told I was the boy found her.

That expression is so much worse.

"Who?" She asks again. Even though her words tell me she doesn't know about whom I'm talking about, her heartbreaking expression does.

I take a deep breath. On my exhale, I whisper, "The guy whose keychain you wear around your neck." I pause to let my words sink in: both for me and for her. Other than the man I'm talking about, Emma has no idea what else I'm implying. Again my impulse control fails me. "He isn't here?"

There's her expression again. Her expression of breathtaking, heartbreaking disbelief…Disbelief - Hold on, he isn't here? How could he not be here? I'm sure he received my postcard.

It can't mean…Does his inaction mean - It can't mean he let go of Emma…can it?

"What are you talking about?" she whispers.

I don't know why I'm doing this – choosing to be honest with her – but the sentence forms and words come out and I know it is the right choice to make. Part of me thinks it is a result of my new chance at life, and part of me thinks I need a real relationship with her. With her: the girl who has stayed with me my entire life. Either way, I whisper, "Neal gave me the car, the keys and that money to give to you. The keys, along your keychain arrived in a package from-"

"From Phuket," Emma finishes my whisper, her eyes widening. After a long pause, Emma realizes, "You knew where I was."

I watch her trying to put the pieces together, trying to understand unspoken words between us.

The only response I give her is a silent one.

"Who are you?" Her voice rises.

Tilting my head in sadness, I remind her. "I'm the selfish puppet, remember?"

"No!" Emma yells. "No. No. No. You're not some selfish puppet! That's not what you did. That's not being selfish! What you did was something else entirely."

"Emma," I cry her name.

"Who. Are. You?"

With a frown, I answer her in the only way I know how. The only way I've justifying every action concerning her throughout my life, "I'm your guardian angel."

Instead of another slap, which I was expecting, Emma starts laughing.

Uncontrollable laughing.

"Emma…"

She keeps laughing. I shift uncomfortably, waiting for her to stop.

When she finally calms down she starts, "You know I'm a princess? I've never said that out loud before. I'm like an actual royal princess. My parents, who are my age by the way, are like the most famous couple in the world. We went to Enchanted Forest and saw the nursery that was made especially for me. It's destroyed – along with the rest of my childhood. Now you're telling me that what, instead of an actual angel or a fairy or whatever, I get a boy puppet – who, of course takes money from me and abandons me – yes that fits exactly into my life story."

"I can explain-"

"No! No!" She yells and then calms down to her normal voice. "No, you can't. You can't explain. I don't want to hear it." Emma yanks my hand from my side and opens my palm, slamming the check into it. "You can give the check to Neal himself, if you ever find him, because I stop looking for him a long time ago. That's how you can be unselfish." Emma looks at me with deeper meaning, just for a moment, and then it's gone.

"Emma, he's coming," I want to warn her. "He cares about you. I know you care about him, too, given you wear his keychain around your neck."

"You don't know anything. I don't wear it to remind me of him." She informs me and I'm suspicious of her words. "I wear it to remind me not to trust people."

"Emma…" My heart breaks again and it's hard for me to breath.

Instead of letting her new tears fall, she wipes them away as soon as they form. "I don't like men who die in my arms." Emma says again. I can't believe after everything that's just past between us, those are the words she chooses to repeat. "I don't like men who die in my arms and then leave me alone." Silence falls between us. I watch her inhale and exhale. Emma looks back at me one last time, her breathtaking expression returning, before walking past me.

I accept our conversation is over, and it was the best I could have hope for – realizing I did not lie to her once. I stare at her back for a moment, watching her hair fly behind her, before turning and walking away.

Only when I'm feet away from her, does Emma call out, "Don't do it again."

Something starts to turn my lips upward. I turn back to her.

But, she's not there.

She's disappeared.

* * *

A/N: Yes, you did read it correctly - It is Part 1. Part 2 will come...probably over the winter hiatus. Thank you so much for everyone's wonderful feedback. It was really nice communicating with readers over the weekend. The excitement over this vignette made me want to give it to you faster! If you're in the US, have a wonderful Thanksgiving and I will post after the holiday break. Hmmm...I think some Fairytale Fluff is in order, don't you?


	16. Like You Watched At Fourteen

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Two am: Like You Watched At Fourteen As It Went Down The Drain_

_She's your daughter, August! What's going on with Anna doesn't need a label or explanation – You're the explanation. Your selfish personality was passed on to your daughter, that's all the explanation I need. _

My words have been running on a loop in my head ever since I said them three days ago. The first day, I thought I couldn't let go of them because I was angry. The second, I thought my obsession was part of my grief period. After running my words over and over tonight, I realize my obsession has nothing to do with the reasons I thought.

I never truly apologized, never found closure with my husband lying next to me; I never told him how much I regretted the words as soon as I spoke them.

From the beautiful moonlit view in the window, I turn to watch my sleeping husband. His bare chest peacefully moves up and down with each breath. When my head drops further into its pillow, the moonlight highlights his infamous nose. Moving closer to him, I lightly press my nose to his.

"I love you so much," I whisper under my breath.

Suddenly, August moves back from my touch and I do the same, hoping I didn't wake him. His eyes pop open after my whisper. He slowly finds me in the darkness, smiles, and puts his arm around my bareback to bring me closer.

"Hey," he whispers.

Instead of talking, I kiss him. He responds to my touch and I unlock my arm from under my side; sliding it up his arm and around his neck.

When I put pressure on his side, implying for him to move closer he breaks our contact.

Damn.

"Are we onto round two?" He continues to whisper. "I thought we decided we both had a big day tomorrow."

Ignoring him, I adjust my body so I can kiss him again. I am relieved when he doesn't pull away. Our kisses grow deeper and I'm impatient for round two.

"Emma," he breaks away again. "We have to wake up at six. What time is it?" August releases me and I sigh. He flips over and pushes himself up to see our cuckoo clock on our nightstand. "It's two in the morning. How long have you been up?"

Taking a deep breath, I whisper, "I never went to sleep," on my exhale.

"Why?" To my dismay, August lights a candle. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie to Pinocchio.

A wide grin appears on his face. Scooting down the bed, he reaches for me. His arms go around me when he pulls me closer. I lean my head against his chest.

"You know," his facial hair touches my cheek when he leans into me, still smiling. "Lying to Pinocchio is a really bad idea – especially when he's your husband. So I suggest being honest and seeing where that leads." He kisses my cheek. "My guess is that telling me would probably help you sleep."

"Probably," I whisper.

"Huh," He tugs me closer and I close my eyes. "You want me guess?" Silence. A kiss brushes my shoulder blade. "If I had to guess, I'd say Princess Emma is worried about Princess Aurora's ball tomorrow, everyone knows how much she hates required social gatherings."

"Not all required social gatherings," I retort. "Just the formal ones."

"Okay." A kiss is planted on my neck. "Stress is not charging though your body, so I'm guessing that's not it. Huh," he says lightly. "It must be the fact that your parents kidnapped your kids for the entire day yesterday without asking you."

"Oh, my, gosh," I turn around to look at him. He raises his eyebrows in question. "They didn't have to ask my permission! They just had to tell someone where they were going so I didn't have a freak out for two hours looking for them!"

August laughs at me softly. My annoyance is clear when I turn from him. "They told me where they were going," he whispers.

"What?" I break free of him and grab a sheet to wrap around me. "You knew?" I ask in shock. "Why didn't you tell me? Where did they go?"

August closes his eyes sinks down further into our mattress. "Not telling."

"Don't lie!" Escapes my lips before I realize he wasn't actually lying.

His eyes pop open. "So not lying." He says casually. "I'm just not giving you the answer you want to hear."

"Yeah. So that's being selfish, " I say boastfully. "You aren't supposed to do that either."

"Keep secrets for other people is not being selfish, thank you very much." He closes his eyes again and I sigh in frustration. Before I can let out the whole breath, through, August's eyes open again. "Actually that's the opposite of being selfish."

At this point, at this hour, I don't care what it is. "Tell me." I demand.

"Nope." August snaps before closing his eyes again.

I shake him awake. "I'm your wife. Keeping secrets from me is bad. You need to tell me."

He smiles, which annoys me even more. "Other than preventing me from going back to sleep, you're kind of cute when you're impatient."

"You're really not going to tell me?"

"It's not my secret to tell. It's Henry's secret and your parents' secret. Go annoy them tomorrow. Tell them your selfish husband wouldn't tell you, see what they say."

"Pinocchio…" I say, annoyed.

"Emma…" He mimics my tone. We stare at each other for a moment: challenging each other. I win when he speaks first. "You'll find out eventually."

I raise one eyebrow. "Eventually?"

"Soonish." He replies sleepily. "Now, I did my job in distracting your mind from whatever is bothering you, so," he leans towards the candle. "Can I go to bed now?"

I don't answer him. He blows out the candle.

"August," I say instantly.

"Oh, my, gosh," I hear him sitting up again. "Now who's being selfish?"

Reaching over him, I light the candle. When I find his face, complete with his annoyed expression, we look at each other. Sadness comes over me when I comprehend his desire to fall asleep again.

However, he doesn't even give me fifteen seconds to formulate what I want to say and how I want to say it before barking, "What Emma?"

His bark makes me want to forget my whole attempt to reach out. Probably because I know if I don't say it now, I probably won't go back to sleep; I somehow find it in me to say what I need.

Yes, I know, don't tell me. I already said I don't care what the definition of selfish is tonight.

So, I start the conversation with: "Do you realize we just had our first real conversation that we've had in a while that didn't mention Anna at all?"

When he hears Anna's name, his expression softens to one of empathy. He whispers, "So why are you bringing her up now? Everyone says we need to have a relationship outside of her."

"I know, but-"

"Emma, I have to wake up early to help your father and the dwarfs rebuild the fences. Can we do this later?"

Quickly, I tell him, "I need to say one thing and then I will leave alone for the rest of the night – I promise."

"No," He smiles. "You tell me whatever's bothering you now and then you let me hold you for the rest of the night. That's the deal, take it or leave it."

I smile warmly. That's exactly what I needed to hear.

"Okay." I reposition myself on the bed and August places his palm on my cheek. I close my eyes for a second to gather my thoughts. When I open them August is looking in them deeply. "I wanted-" No. Not wanted. "I needed to tell you how sorry I was for our fight the other day-"

August instantly lets go of any annoyance or stress he was carrying. Warmth rushes into his whole being. "Oh, Emma…"

"No, no." I say quickly. "I was way out of line and I know that. I want you to know that I know that. I hate myself for what I said to you, and you need to know how sorry I am."

"I know," he whispers. "I know. You told me already."

"No," I speak over him. "I told you, but I didn't – I didn't," a single tear falls down my cheek when my words don't come out right. August gently brushes it away. "None of what I said meant anything. I don't believe anything I said to you. Nothing-"

Before I can continue, he pulls me to him and firmly presses his lips to mine. After a quick moment, after he's given me his message, I try to pull away, but he doesn't let me. Instead of fighting him, I lean in.

He pulls away just as I was hoping for more. "Is that really why you couldn't sleep?" Silently, I answer with a nod. His hand returns to my cheek. "You need to forgive yourself. Forgive yourself, just as I did you."

"How?" I cry out. "How could you forgive me?"

"Emma," he says my name in a heartbreaking tone. "You just told me none of your words meant anything. It was a fight, people say all kinds of things they don't mean. Maybe a long time ago, when I was insecure about our relationship, I would have taken more of a blow, but I know you and know us better now."

"Well," I start, blown away by his words. "I guess forgiveness is part of the deal when you marry your guardian angel."

August laughs and breaks our contact. I scoot over to my side of the bed when he leans to blow out the candle.

In the dark, he whispers. "Actually, I think forgiveness comes with the whole marriage deal in general."

"Oh, okay," I whisper lightly. "I'll have to remember that when it's your turn to screw up."

Even though he promised he would, I'm surprised when he scoots closer to me. He wraps me in his arms and pulls me to him. "You better," he whispers in my ear before kissing my cheek.

A few minutes of silence pass between us. I lean into him and feel him adjusting his hold on me.

Before my eyelids finally shut, I whisper under my breath, "Thank you, Pinocchio."

I hear, "I love you Emma," right as I drift off to sleep.

* * *

A/N: Hmm...Things I'm excited about: Aurora's Ball, Henry's secret (I wonder if they might collide), oh and of course Jiminy's relationship with the Blue Fairy...Thanks for your feedback and excitement over Tallahassee Part 1! I'm also excited for Part 2.


	17. Your Pops Stayed The Same

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_One pm: Your Pops Stayed The Same And Your Mom's Moved Away_

Jiminy likes his ice cream in a cup. He enjoys soups more than sandwiches. He takes everything I say about him seriously. His weird quirks make our time together more fun and his awkwardness is what makes him adorable.

"So, erm," He starts after minutes of walking silence. "We've never gone into the woods together before."

I turn in his direction, watching him take another precise spoonful of ice cream. His particular way of eating ice cream; so neat and exact, is another quality that makes Jiminy adorable. When he finishes his bite, he turns to me. Our eyes meet and I notice a hint of blush beneath his cheeks.

"What are you talking about, Jiminy?" I give my conned ice cream a lick. "We used to meet up in the woods all the time."

Suddenly, he losses control of his spoon and causes his spoonful of ice cream to fall back into it cup. I smile. When he notices my reaction, he shows even more frustration and I can't help laughing out loud.

He stops walking and turns to face me. "You know, Anna," He says in an annoyed voice. "I wouldn't think fairies would enjoy making fun of people."

Okay, has he met Tinker Bell?

"Oh, come on." I playfully nudge his arm. "You should count yourself lucky I share with you a side of myself I have to hide to everyone else."

"You don't have to hide it. You don't have to be so polite, not if you don't want to." Jiminy says softly. "You're allowed to have fun."

I take another lick of ice cream. "What do you think I'm doing right now?"

"Right. I forgot." Jiminy carefully takes a bite of ice cream and starts to walk again. "You're allowed to have a secret life away from the rest of the fairies, but the rest of can't hide anything from you."

Oh, boy.

I didn't look forward to having lunch with him, to going on a walk in the woods with him, to discuss business.

If that was really his goal, he should address me as the Blue Fairy, not Anna, and should not have paid for lunch.

"Jiminy…" I warn him, hoping he'll know to change the subject quickly.

"I'm just saying, you're being a little hypocritical." He finishes his last bite. "Going on dates yourself, but not allowing Grumpy and Nova to do the same."

Having no desire to discuss the subject further, I reply with a simple, "Okay."

After tapping his spoon on his ice cream cup a couple of times, clearly uncomfortable, he challenges softly. "That's all you have to say?"

"Yes." I state firmly. "I don't discuss my colleagues on dates." The shock on his face tells me he finally heard what I was hinting at him. Then I'm reminded of how he found out about the incident in the first place. "And you shouldn't either, considering Grumpy is a client of yours."

Regret fills his face as he whispers softly, "Anna…"

Of course, when he says my name like that, with his particular expression on his face, it's hard not to give him what he wants.

Against my better judgment, my higher fairy instincts, I respond to his accusation. "For the record, Jiminy, I'm not punishing them for dating, I'm punishing them for stealing fairy dust."

"Potato-Pototo," He says without looking at me, deciding he should have the final say on the subject.

"No," I run to catch up with him. I place my hand on his shoulder so he looks at me. "No. It's not the same thing. Fairy dust is rare around here; we need it for emergencies or to help people who have no other option. What Grumpy did to help Nova get ahead was, frankly, selfish and inconsiderate of others."

"Or incredibly romantic," Jiminy retorts.

I try to hide my smile. Although I would never admit it, he does have a point. If I was anybody else, holding any other position with the fairies or to the rest of the population, I might be able to see it differently. But, right now, I can't afford to.

I finish my cone and put it in Jiminy's empty cup. Only after noticing there are no trashcans around, do I wave my hand to make them both disappear.

If Jiminy is surprised at my magic, he doesn't show it.

"So," I start, desperate to change the subject. "How's our boy doing?"

"Pinocchio?" He confirms, surprised. "He's good."

"Still engaged?"

"Yeah." There's a tone of disbelief to his voice. "Pretty incredible if you ask me."

My forehead creases in confusion. "How so?"

"Oh," He takes a deep breath. From all my time with him, I know he uses his deep breathing when he's uncomfortable or when he needs time to figure out what to say. "I don't know. It's strange to me, how the woman he abandoned as a baby chose him to be his life partner."

I watch his face, trying to figure out the thoughts in his head. My eyebrow rise when I piece them together. Jiminy Cricket is still punishing the boy he once looked after for his mistakes. "You need to forgive him too," I whisper.

His eyes snap to mine. The compassionate expression on my face allows him to open up more. "That's what I don't understand," he shares honesty with me. "Why I am having a hard time doing that when everyone else seems to turn a blind eye?"

A blind eye? Does he remember how much trouble Pinocchio and Emma went through at the start of their relationship?

I don't say that, though, instead I inform of something that, perhaps he only realizes subconsciously. Softly, I say, "Maybe you're the one who doesn't forgive him because you're the one who had the highest expectations of him."

Jiminy stops for a moment. I nod to him, telling him I understand his reasons behind his feelings. Finally, a small smile appears on his face.

I match it. "You don't always have to understand your feelings to know they're true."

He freezes at my words and I wait, watching him intently. I'm relived when he takes a step closer. When he leans in, I can't help thinking:

_Yes, Jiminy, that was an opening._

As our faces come closer together, a loud, obnoxious, motorcycle roar interrupts our moment. We both turn at the noise. I let out a sigh when I notice the driver. Of course. Only he could find the worst time to interrupt us.

"Hey, you guys," Pinocchio stops his bike feet away from us. Only then do I notice Emma clinging on to him. "What are you two doing out here alone?"

"We're just taking a walk," I say innocently.

Jiminy quickly changes the subject, "Where are you guys going?"

"We're going to go capture some villains," Pinocchio lies in a sassy tone.

Emma plays along, "And then taking them out of Storybrooke so they lose their memories." She shrugs, smugly. "Anybody here object?" She asks, fully aware our real opinions on the matter.

I'm too stunned to speak.

"Hey," Pinocchio nudges her. "We have the approval of the most prominent person in Storybrooke. We're a go." He winks at her.

"Like her disapproval was ever going to stop us," Emma boasts.

I turn in Jiminy's direction and find him shaking his head in disapproval. My heart sinks. I can't possibly scold them now – not when Jiminy has that expression on his face.

"We should get on that actually," Pinocchio acts like he's looking at his watch, but I know he isn't. "We wouldn't want to disrupt my arrogated parents on their special date-"

"It's not a date." Jiminy and I say together.

"Right…" Pinocchio comments. Emma can't help letting out a laugh and I shift uncomfortably. "Hey Jiminy. The best way to kiss a girl is to surprise them. If you keep them waiting forever, they'll going to lose interest quickly."

My eyes bulge. Heat rushes into my cheeks.

"Thank You!" Jiminy tries to talk over Pinocchio so I don't hear his last words, but I do anyway.

Grinning, Pinocchio gives Jiminy a friendly whack on the shoulder. "Good luck, man." He says before driving away.

"Unbelievable." Jiminy comments.

"Come on," I lean closer to him. "They're just having fun."

"Fun? Anna, that was not fun." Anger starts to show in his face. I smile inwardly, noting how cute it is. "They were rude, disrespectful," He counts the adjectives on his fingers. "Offensive…" He points in the direction they drove off in. "They might not be taking villains, but you know they're leaving Storybrooke, right?"

"So?"

"So?" He repeats me in an outrageous tone. "That's irresponsible! What if something were to happen to them? To Emma? Outside of Storybrooke? Then we're all screwed." I watch him spin himself into a frenzy. I turn my ears off as he keeps going, realizing if one were to take all his strong words out, all they would hear was concern for Pinocchio.

I grab his arm. He shuts up when I pull him closer. Standing on my tiptoes, my heals are off the ground, I reach my hands up around his neck and kiss him.

It's short and sweet.

And wonderful.

"What was that for?" Jiminy asks before opening his eyes.

He opens them while waiting for my answer. I shrug. "For being you."

"What…Oh…" He mumbles. "Right…Okay."

My lips pressed together and turn upward.

Instead of smiling back, though, Jiminy takes my hand seriously and leads me further down the forest path.

After a few minutes Jiminy whispers, "I guess I'm new at this whole feeling-thing."

Knowing exactly what he means, I still can't help saying. "Jiminy, you're a therapist. The feeling-thing is kind of your job," as I tug at his fingers.

"No, I know." He says quickly. "I meant my own feelings."

Through the corners of my eyes, I levesl his. "I know what you meant."

"Oh, right," he says awkwardly and continues down the path.

"Henry, that's not enough," I hear a young girl's voice and turn in its direction. "The directions require one moss species for every one listed."

"Grace, we have one of each species." Henry informs her while they sit on a fallen tree, tracking their collection of mosses. "We did everything the assignment asked."

Annoyed, Grace looks away from him. When she does, her eye line collides with mine. She jumps up. "Oh, hi."

Smiling at her adorableness, I walk closer to the pair. "Hi guys. What are you doing?"

"Homework assignment," Henry answers quickly. "Science class."

"For Miss Blanchard," Grace tells me. Henry gives her an odd look. "Or, erm, for Mrs. White."

Jiminy walks closer, passing me to examine their collection. "Sorry, Henry, I think Grace is right this time."

Henry crosses his arms. "What are you talking about?" He nods in the list's direction. "We gathered each and every one of the species listed."

Smiling, Grace lifts the paper and points to the bottom of it. "It says, and I quote, 'Any species of moss you remember.' - "

"Yeah," Henry rolls his eyes. "I'm not doing any extra credit, thank you. I get extra credit for being her grandson."

"It's not extra credit, Henry." Grace says in a know-it-all voice.

"Seems it to me." Henry snatches the instructions from her. "It says, and I quote, 'Bonus: Any species of moss you remember.'"

Smiling, I turn to Jiminy who's already looking at me, and know he's thinking the same I'm thinking.

"Magical moss, Henry," Grace keeps her tone. "Your Grandmother wants us to remember magical moss from home and find if it exists in Storybrooke's forest."

Henry's eyes bulge. Jiminy and I share a smile. "There's magical moss?"

Grace grabs the instructions back from him. "Let's go, Earth-Boy." She grabs his shirt and begins to tug him away. "Bye fellow Fairytale Land natives."

I lift up my palm to wave and Jiminy and I say together, "Bye."

He adds, "Good Luck."

We hear Henry say, "Hey, I'm a Fairytale Land native."

"No, you're not." Grace pulls him further away.

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not," With every word Grace's voice is harder and harder to hear. "If you were, you would know what magical moss was."

Jiminy and I watch Grace pulling Henry until they're out of sight. Once we're alone, we turn back to each other.

"Okay, I give," Jiminy picks up my hand. At his touch, I look up at him wondrously. "Stealing fairy dust has nothing on those two."

Beaming, I tell him, "That's all I'm saying…" before pulling his hand back to our forest path.

* * *

A/N: I have tickets to Aurora's Ball this weekend. Who wants one?


	18. How Many Of Our Parents Make It Anyway?

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_One am: How Many Of Our Parents Make It Anyway?_

Our grandfather clock in the entrance hall loses its chime when it tries to mark the top of the hour. Its sound is drowned out by the change in music, making our ballroom three times as loud as when the orchestra played. The obnoxious foreign music, which once annoyed me to know end, now ignites excitement. Before I register what I am doing, I search the crowded room full of dancers trying to find the gentleman who taught me so well.

As I sit on my throne, raised higher than the ballroom floor, searching, Phillip places his hand over my arm. Since it is so warm tonight, his cold hand feels so good. Like always, I wish his hand would stay in its position forever.

"There he is, Aurora, walking towards us." Phillip whispers in my ear. It's clear the foreign music doesn't suit him either. "I told you he wouldn't forget."

I spot August. Our gazes meet and we share a smile. Emma is on his arm as they approach us and she lifts her palm in greeting. Though we saw each other earlier in the evening, I never had a chance to catch up with my good friend. Phillip offers his hand and leads me down the couple of steps to meet the couple.

Emma, dressed in form-fitting, ankle length, blue dress, has her arms reached out to me before Phillip loosens his grip on my hand. I move into her arms, welcoming her embrace; noting once again how different she is now from when I met her all those years ago.

"Hi!" Emma greets me with excitement. "So good to see you!"

"You too," I try whisper, but the loud music forces me to raise my voice. "I'm so glad you could make it." Emma loosens her hold on me, allowing room to step back and look at her. There is a little blush in her cheeks and I know she's thinking about her young daughter. I heard from someone there was a debate whether they could make it tonight. While I don't like to gossip, I have a feeling the rumor was true considering both August and Emma were both a little flustered when we greeted them on their way in. I place my hand on Emma's cheek for a moment. My heart swells for her when I notice the hint of tiredness in her eyes. After meeting her daughter, Anna, and spending time with her, I know Emma's exhaustion has nothing to do with tonight's ball.

"Where are your parents?" I ask her. "I was hoping to see them tonight."

"They couldn't make it," Emma tells me. "They wanted to take care of Anna instead." I nod, despite how exhausting Anna can be; I know Snow wouldn't trade the time with her granddaughter for anything.

Not wanting to dwell on the point, probably trying to enjoy her night off of parent duty, Emma changes the subject. "I heard my husband owes you a dance," Emma shares with a smile.

I let out a small laugh. "He does." August and I look at each other. "If that's okay."

"Only if I can sit on you throne." Emma teases. "And sit this dance out."

Again, I worry about her. While I'm grateful she came, it's clear her time would be put to better use if she were asleep. "Only if you keep my husband company."

Emma turns to Phillip and they share smile. "I'd be honored," Phillip says. I watch him take Emma's hand, kiss it, and lead her up the couple of steps to the seats we were just occupying. Before I turn to August, I try to make contact with Phillip, hoping to have one last glance of longing. Although, after a second or two, it's clear we won't share one. Phillip and Emma are already engaged in a deep conversation.

August leans into me when I turn to him and kisses my cheek. "Happy Birthday, your Highness."

"Thank you," I say warmly.

"Shall we?" He says, looking back at the dance floor. When he offers his hand, I take it, walking with him to find some room on the floor. I find an empty spot before he does and break protocol to lead him to it. I stop when we reach it as I try to figure out the first couple of steps to this particular dance. Phillip is such a wonderful dancer; I never had to think about steps before. However, that is exactly what I like about dancing with August, he teaches me foreign dances in a way that requires me to think. Finding a challenge and conquering it makes me feel like I'm living my second chance at life to the fullest.

"It's swing, your Highness," August smiles. "Light on feet, flow with the music." He spins me out while he does his back step and then receives me with a grace I did not think possible for a dance so foreign.

"So tell me," I speak over the music. "Are you the one who switched the music?"

Though he acts a little offended, I can tell he's not in his expression. "Aurora, while I'll admit I enjoy swing dancing and the music that comes along with it. I have to tell you, I would never, ever, dare to touch the music at a ball that wasn't my own."

"Ah," I say before he spins me out again. "Playing jokes not your thing?"

"No," Our eyes collide and I notice his somber expression. "I'm the lying, selfish person around here."

"August." I stop dancing. "I don't really know your history, and this whole concept of morals associated with our life stories is a little huge for me to process, but I have to tell you, you are amongst Phillip and Mulan in terms of people who are unselfish in my book."

He spins me out again. "Then you clearly don't know me very well."

"Well," We lean into our back-steps together. "I know you are teaching me how to swing dance just because I asked you. How selfish can you be?"

"You're forgetting," I spin out and back into his arms. "This is your birthday present."

"Ah," I smile. "So that present you brought in-"

"Is just from Emma." August winks at me.

Other than my fading laugh, we are silent for the rest of the song. The steps of swing are fun and keep a little bounce in my feet. While never as good a dancer as Phillip, August leads wonderfully and keeps my amateur dancing from colliding with any other couples. We keep dancing when the song switches, the music even more distasteful than the last, and I begin to pick up a few moves from dancers around me.

Soon, I remember the question I had for him when we greeted in the entrance hall hours ago. I have a feeling he would know about our guest who was given a ticket but never appeared. "You might be new at attending balls at court," I start, knowing he's had three years of practice. "But it's rare for a person to be handed a ticket to a ball and then not show up."

"Is it?" He questions casually. We lean on our front feet and I give him a knowing look. Once he sees it, though, he looks confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought any fathers of princes should be welcomed at court," I hint. August doesn't bite. "Where's Baelfire?" I finally ask.

"Oh," August comments shortly, his eyes widening. "He couldn't make it. He…um…is still locked up."

I stop dancing. "Locked up?" I let go of his hand. "Still locked up? Since when has he been in jail?"

Clearly having no desire to discuss the subject, August answers casually, "Since he abused his son and burned down a mill."

"Abused-" The thought makes my synapses fire faster. "He would never hurt Henry. Phillip knew Baelfire as a kid. We were talking about him a couple of weeks ago, how this change in him – his personality is so different than what it was."

"My fault I'm afraid," August reaches for me to dance again. "How did Phillip know Baelfire as a kid?"

I smile. I always smile when I have the chance to talk about Phillip. "Baelfire and his Father lived in his Kingdom for a while. Phillip liked to sneak out of his castle and play with other kids when he had a chance."

August has no response to my comment. Other than spinning me out at the right time to the music, I'd have no clue as to whether he heard me at all.

"Is claiming everything is your fault part of your story as well," I challenge him. "Or is there a reason you take responsibility for Baelfire's need for an attitude adjustment?"

"I-"

BAM!

At that instant, the ballroom goes completely black. My body freezes. With the music still blaring, it is impossible to communicate with anyone. Someone grabs hold of my arm, I hope it's August, it feels like his warm grip, and leads me in the direction, more like what I think is the direction, of Phillip's and my thrones at the edge of the dance floor.

Phillip grabs hold of me; I'd know his touch anywhere, as August lets go. "It's okay," Phillip yells in my ear.

"Isn't the light box to the right of the dance floor?" Emma yells over all of us. "Come on! This way!"

Light boxes and loud music are exactly the problem with bringing everyone's favorite things about Storybrooke into this land. Sighing in frustration and helplessness, my feet move when August pulls Phillip's and mine entwined hands forward. When Phillip brushes his body with a wall, he brings me to it, letting me lean against it and catch my breath.

"It's okay," He soothes me. "Everything's okay."

After all we've been through, sleeping curses, dark curses, wraths, heart snatchers, and love triangles, I'd feel like a fool to be afraid now. Even so, I take the chance to lean into Phillip. Closing my eyes and resting my head on his shoulder is so much better than trying to see in the darkness.

"Henry!" Emma's uproar jolts my eyes open and turns my head in her direction.

Adjusting to the relit room, I can't help laughing at the sight causing Emma's rage. For, leaning against a corner of the ballroom, with their arms around each other, is a couple coming up for air.

"What I'd tell you earth boy?" Grace blushes, "Even changing the music without magic had a price."

Henry closes his eyes to avoid any more embarrassment and bangs his head against the wall.

I don't blame either, after seeing the shocked expression on his mother's face.

* * *

A/N: Henry keeps the cutest secrets, doesn't he? Tallahassee Part 2 up next! That is, Part 2 of 3. I need to cover each POV, right? Followed by some Henry/Anna bonding (Wouldn't it be great if Grace bonded with them too :~) ?). Loved the Blue Cricket love. Thanks!


	19. We're Just Fumbling Through The Gray

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Six-Oh-Six pm: We're Just Fumbling Through The Gray (Or Tallahassee Part 2)_

After being thrown out of an ice cream shop, a real man would have enough confidence, enough pride in themselves to be able to stand up off their ass as soon as they were beaten down. If their own mind was not powerful enough to recover after a fall mentally, then at least, a real man could be able to rise from their fall physically.

I, being my father's son, am not able to do either.

Hiding is the only action I am able to take, slipping down below the ice cream shop's window and crawling around the corner. Crawling is yet another of Papa's traits I have embodied since arriving in Storybrooke and it's only been a couple of hours. I lean back against the cold cement, trying to find the man inside of me. Until he decides to show up, I am stuck here on my knees, glued to the wall, whimpering like a pathetic puppy.

I wasn't always like this. Like most men, their strength disappears as soon as they lose the love of their lives. Real men would recover from a loss like that, slowly, of course, but surely. However, if my first encounter with the love of my life after twelve years has taught me anything, it's that I spent all that time pretending to be fine, only to find out in one moment that I never was.

_Emma_, I recall her image in my mind. She's even hotter now than all those years ago. While her face is brighter, her expressions stronger without her glasses (or maybe that's just an effect of her maturing into a fierce, hot, sexy woman), I miss her glasses. They are part of what made Emma, Emma. Plus, I remember how great it was to be out in public with a sexy girl that also had the benefit of looking smart. It had so many advantages.

Now, though, I know Emma's advantages won't work for me at all. If anything, her position as the town's – curse breaker – savior – whatever they're calling her, will probably hurt me more than help. I lost any glimmer of hope the second Emma's gaze fell on me through the shop's window. Not that I had much hope to begin with; after abandoning her and selling her out to the police. Still, after twelve years, was it too much to hope for that she would be happy to see me, at least in the smallest way possible?

Him.

His image takes Emma's place and rage rushes over me. Whatever Emma thinks of me now must be entirely his fault. August's explanations are the only ones she's heard, the only ones that had the power to change her opinion of me so drastically.

Only a selfish puppet is capable of that kind of betrayal.

Magically, or on a timer (I am not clear on the inner working on the town yet), Storybrooke's streetlights illuminate its streets. I turn towards them and my heart stops for the second time tonight.

My yellow bug.

She kept it. Despite her recent behavior, the sight of my car brings fresh air into my lungs. How did I lose hope so easily? There's a street lamp right above its hood, flooding my car with lamp. Other than the bruise on the side door, she's exactly the same. More than Emma, whom I was expecting to see, my car tugs at my emotions in a way I wasn't expecting.

Without trying to move, my legs lead me towards my car. They stop right before the light touches me. I pause, letting the significance of the moment sink it. Now that my car is in reach after all these years, now that I know it's real, I know Emma is in my reach as well.

Realizing going back to the ice cream shop, back to Emma, is probably not the right choice, I choose the next best thing: instead of trying to reconnect with Emma, I reach out to the car, hoping to run my finger tips over its curves.

The second I press my fingers to its hood, however, the lights shut off. My car is surrounded in darkness once again

"Bae." I hear an angry voice from behind me. Instinctively I worry it belongs to Father, but once rings in my head, my blood begins to boil. "You're late." August projects his voice through the dark.

Seriously? He wants to lecture me about my arrival? It's funny, the way he likes to control people. By the way he tries to control every aspect of Emma's life, one would think he would hate a role of puppet master after being a puppet himself.

"Not sure I was coming," I give him too honest an answer and soon regret it.

"I promise her you would." I hear his footsteps approaching and soon he's close enough to see. "We were waiting for you."

We?

Were? As in - past tense?

As my eyebrows furrow in question, his raise in answer.

Images flash before me of Emma and August eating ice cream together before she saw me; images of stolen looks and brief touches of love.

Love.

That bastard.

Blood starting to boil is nothing compared to my new desire to run over him with my car that he's currently leaning against. Without thinking, I grab his shirt and throw him off the hood. His body slams into the light post and his force somehow turns the light on again. After watching his body fly across the cement, I look down at my fists, which are still shaking in anger.

"You weren't here!" August stresses his voice. He is pleading for my understanding, but I don't care. "I waited for you!"

"You we waiting for me to what?" I yell at him. "Give you permission to make your move?"

"Someone needed to love her," he keeps his voice stressed. "She deserved that, and if you weren't going be there for her after the curse broke, I sure as hell was."

Still yelling, I question, "And whose fault is that? Remind me again, who took the love out of her life in the first place?"

If August takes my words to heart, like he should, he doesn't show it. His god complex somehow reassures him he did the right thing. "That wasn't my intent! Nor was it my job!" He finally matches my volume and I feel some small victory. "My job was to keep her on track and you," he points at me, "With your reckless, charming behavior wasn't going to do that. We both agreed. It was good for her. It was what she needed!"

"So, what?" Despite changing my tone to a lighter one, I know my sarcasm has a hint of danger to it. "What? You thought you could break Emma and me apart and then claim her for yourself the second I didn't show up?"

"Baelfire." August's serious tone starts to sound threatening. "I sent that postcard to you a year ago. Right when the curse broke, just like I promised. I also promised you that I would be there for her and I have. If you were still in love with her, you would have shown up way before now."

"You know, being there for her wasn't meant to include taking my place in her life."

"Hey, life happens." He informs me a little too casually. "And I certainly don't owe you any apologies or explanations."

"No." I finally admit. "But you do owe them to her."

When I see his stress turn into compassion, I feel my composure changing as well. Without any anger in his voice, August whispers. "And I gave them to her."

My lips tease a smile. "Really?" I laugh out loud. "Please tell me how Emma fell for a guy who took away everything good in her life; the man she loved, her support system, and then locked her up in jail."

"Hey!" August yells and points at me again. "We did that together."

Watching his exaggerated reaction, I realize whatever truth he told Emma, it wasn't the whole truth. Quickly, I make the decision to shut my mouth. It's wiser to keep his concealment about our actions to myself until I find the perfect time to reveal it.

"Of course we did," The semi-darkness hides my smile. Turning back to a straight face, I look him in the eye to make my threat clear. "Only, I wonder if Emma will see that way," I say slowly. "When I tell her my side of the story."

"I'm not holding my breath," he responds lightly. "Oh, and by the way, how's daddy doing?" He threatens back.

Suddenly, my chest tightens and my breath shortens. Our eyes pierce each other as both of our threats to sink in. In our silence, we dare each other to speak, to move, to break our staring contest. No threat, no answer comes to me when I need it. The only loop playing repeating in my head is the image of him and Emma sharing their ice cream together. The picture of Emma's smile makes me realize Papa never played any part in my decision to come to Storybrooke. However small I thought his role was, I always thought he was holding me back instead of my fear of seeing Emma again.

The sound of heals disturbs the street. August turns in its direction, losing our staring contest, and I notice how his stress changes his body. Feeling victorious over our interaction, I pay little attention to the source of his change. Only when he grabs me, pulling me from the car and out of the light, do I notice Emma approaching my car and leaning against it.

Yeah, I knew my threat affected him more than he let on.

He shoves my back against a wall and I smile. While I could fight him, destroy him to pieces; I would rather surprise him at the perfect moment. "What happened to you Bae?" He stresses his voice while he whispers. "Any remorse I had surround you and Emma disappeared the second you showed up tonight. Believe me, if I knew you were going to end up like this, I never would have sent that postcard."

"Ending up like this," I speak into his face. "Is what happens when you lose your true love and then see them happy with someone else." I don't even fight my desire to pull him up by his collar. Instead I give in. "Watch. You'll see. It's only a matter of time until it happens to you."

Even though I'm still grabbing him, August doesn't react to my physical or verbal threats. Anger gets the better of me and as I lift my fist to strike him, I hear Emma's voice:

"August," she calls sweetly. "Is that you?"

Before I have time to react, August knees me in the groin, releasing himself and sending me down to the hard ground – back to the position I started in.

Footsteps.

"Hey," I hear August's voice.

Softly, Emma says, "Hey. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," they kiss. "Never better."

"Good." Her statement grows in volume. "Are we still on to go to our woods?"

"Always," he replies shortly.

I don't move until I hear car doors slam and the engine start. Fighting my pain, I stand to watch my car drive away from me. Curiously, it heads towards Storybrooke's town limits rather than its forest in the other direction.

A real man would follow the savior and her untrustworthy companion out of the town, right? Someone needs to make sure nothing bad happens to the savior while she's away.

* * *

A/N: Timeline wise: This vignette fits right after vignette #1 and before vignette #7, please remember that they were both published before Tallahassee aired. If you turned a blind eye to some of their dialogue, it works :D! I hope everybody, especially Prydain, is happy with Bae's POV. A while ago, I promised biweekly updates...since I am currently writing two stories (Please check out "Becoming The Charmings" if you haven't) all I can promise is once a week. I will, however, give my attention to whichever story's readers are more demanding. Anna and Henry up next! Thanks for everyone's ongoing support, really.


	20. A Heart That's Not Walking Away

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Seven am: Trying To Find A Heart That's Not Walking Away_

"Brother," Anna whispers. Even though her voice is barely audible, it prevents me from drifting back to sleep. She places one finger on my cheek and my eyes open.

As she pushes herself onto my lap, her black curls come out of her braid and fall down her nightgown. I reposition myself on the couch to support her, putting my arm around her back to make sure she doesn't fall.

"Sorry, Anna," I kiss her hair. "Brother is tired. I had to stay up extra late for a scolding from your parents." Even though I know my sister won't respond to any of my anecdotes, I like sharing my life with her anyway. "I accidentally turn off all the lights during the ball last night. Mom thinks I used magic to turn them off, but really I just-" Anna squirms in my arms, and tries to move towards the table. I shift her body back to face me. "I just didn't realize I was so close to the light box. The last thing I wanted to do was turn the whole ballroom black."

"Black." Anna repeats while she stares at the shelf across the nursery.

Sighing, I bow my head. It finds a soft place to rest my head on my sister's shoulder, but the second after she feels its pressure; Anna tries to escape from my hold. I lift her out of my lap so her feet dangle in the air. She smiles and when she does, I can't help but do the same. Slowly, I lower her to the point where her feet find support on my lap. She likes standing up on my lap. It's the only time I look up at her.

Anna comes down from her position by herself. I take the fact that she is looking up at me as proof she wants to hear more of my story, but really I have no idea. As I could have predicted, Anna looks away from me the second I start talking.

"You know what, Anna?" I raise my eyebrows at her, trying to make contact, but Anna seems to ignore me and finds interest in the art supplies on the table. "Anna?" I try calling her name to refocus her by instinct, but soon remember that approach never works anyway. Moving off the couch, I crouch down beside Anna and put my hand on her back as she works. She lets me, as she seems to be more absorbed in the different shades of colored paper than my touch. "The thing is, Mom thinks waking me up early to watch you is some kind of punishment, but," I pause for meaning, but soon realize it probably won't make any difference to her.

So, trying to communicate in a different way, I slide my hand from her back to take hold of her hand. Knowing it is harder to make eye contact with her, I just lean into her and whisper, "The thing is, hanging out with you could never be a punishment. Hanging out with you is peaceful, like hitting a refresh button on the rest of my life."

Anna doesn't look up from her coloring.

I'm disappointed when she doesn't respond in any way. In fact, she won't let me hold her hand for a second longer than she has to, quickly pulling it back to pick another piece of paper.

Giving up trying, I watch Anna reach across the table for the box of crayons. When she can't quite reach them, I grab hold of them hoping my action will force her to interact with me.

"Anna, say 'please.'" Her gaze is caught on what I'm keeping from her. "Anna, ask for the crayons. Can you say 'please'?"

No response.

I keep Anna's crayons from her a second longer than I should have, I realize too late. She lunges for the box, hitting it out of my grip and throwing it to the floor.

Noticing the dozens of crayons spreading out over the nursery floor, I predict Anna's next actions before they happen. "Anna!" I say loudly. "Anna, don't!"

Of course, my words have no affect. Crayons are hurled at me before I can stop her. "Anna!" I move closer to her, reaching for her small hands.

I grab them; putting her hands together and wrapping my right hand around both of hers. As Anna tries to get away, she screams out.

"Shhh!" I raise my finger to my lips. "Anna, it's okay. Look at me, look at brother." Finally, for the first time this morning, my sister looks me in the eye. "It's okay."

I know I only have seconds to make the right decision; either my next action will calm her down completely, or it will escalate her behavior.

"We are going to color, okay?" I loosen my grip on her. "We're going to color together. Brother wants to color with you. Can you help brother clean up the crayons?"

Slowly, I release Anna. As an example for her, I bend down further and start picking up crayons from the floor and return them to their box. "See? Help brother put the crayons away," I ask softly as I drop another handful in the box. "Anna?"

When I look up at my sister, however, I know I pushed her too far. Once again, Anna takes hold of the crayon box and flips it over, spilling the newly return crayons back to the floor.

Damnit.

When I look up, I see my sister running back and forth across the nursery. I sigh and turn towards the nursery's door to make sure it's closed. When I see the door is secure, I finally let out the breath I was holding. It feels so good to breathe again.

I start to clean up the crayons again, but stop myself. I move to sit on the couch, leaning back and closing my eyes for moment.

"Henry?" The sweetest voice calls my name from across the room. I turn to find Grace hanging on the door molding. I smile at her, noticing her casual green dress and her long flowing hair. "Doing a little coloring?"

"Oh," My gaze shifts from her to the crayons on the floor. "Attempting to."

"Ah." Grace's warm smile still lights up her face and she joins me on the couch. "Things didn't go as planned?"

Right then, Anna stops running around the room and turns in my direction. As if understanding Grace's words and their deeper meaning, Anna climbs into my lap again and puts her hand gently on my face.

I turn back to Grace and say softly, "Nothing ever goes as planned."

Suddenly, Grace's smile leaves her face and I know she caught my deeper meaning about last night. Before I know it, she is leaning in for a kiss. Surprised, probably because I can't help it, I lean away from my sister and return Grace's quick kiss.

Most sisters, I'm sure, would have made some kind of disgusted noise, especially when their brothers are so important to them. Anna, however, has no reaction. When I look back at her, her gaze has settled on the bookshelf.

Anna's gaze doesn't shift even when Grace reaches out to her, brushing her thumb across her shoulder. We stay in that position for some time, silently. Time like these, when Anna is able to sit still, is why I call time with her peaceful. When Anna relaxes, so do I. It's hard not to be calm when her soft head leans on my chest and her curls flow down her arm.

Something clicks in my head when I look at Grace. Suddenly, my body tenses, which Anna of course can feel and she slides out of my arms. For once, I don't care. Anna's exit gives me a chance to focus on Grace.

"What are you doing here?" I panic. "You can't be here. We're going to get in even more trouble! Do you know what time it is?"

While stress wakes up any part of me that still tired, Grace just smiles, adding to my stress level instead of reducing it. "Henry," we make eye contact and her expression sooths me. "I snuck out of my house to see you when your mother and stepfather showed up to see my Father."

"What?" I blurt out, shocked. "What are they doing there? At seven in the morning?" A thousand thoughts run through my head. Panic, concern, worry and then dread at their return makes my stress return again.

Watching Anna for the morning suddenly feels like more of a punishment than I ever thought possible.

"Henry," Grace lets out a laugh and puts her hand on my knee. "What did you think would happen? That we'd out our relationship in such a public way and have no fallout?"

"No," I say stronger than I intended. "I expected fallout. I already was yelled at – twice and I probably have to take care of my sister every single morning now until I die."

Grace runs her fingers through Anna's curls as Anna colors with the couple crayons that didn't make it to the floor. "Watching Anna could never be a fallout or a punishment." She repeats my words I shared with Anna earlier. "Not when she's such an angel."

"She threw the crayons at me and then on the floor." I state with no emotion.

I expected Grace to have some reaction to my statement, some sort of sympathy for the tantrum Anna just put me through. She doesn't. I guess I've told her enough about Anna for her not to be surprised. Whenever Grace and Anna interact, which has been on very few occasions because we've kept our relationship a secret, Anna always acts an angel.

Grace whispers, "She's still an angel."

"That must be why she was named after the Blue Fairy."

Grace laughs and shakes her head at me. "Earth-Boy, fairies and angels are different."

I roll my eyes at her.

Still smiling, Grace puts her hands on my sister's shoulders, to which Anna doesn't respond, and whispers. "Hey Anna, I'm going to clean up the crayons, do you want to help me?" Grace kneels to the floor and starts picking up the crayons to put them in the box. When Anna makes no move to help Grace, Grace stops and sighs. Watching Grace's efforts, I shake my head. I know it's probably nothing to brag about, but I just tried to help Anna and knew her attempt wouldn't work.

Apparently, shaking my head in disapproval is exactly what Grace needed to double her efforts. She takes the opportunity to approach my sister again. Putting her arm around one shoulder, Grace turns Anna so she can see the crayons on the floor.

"Anna, I know you don't want those crayons to stay on the floor. We need to pick them up."

Like magic, Grace's words connect with Anna. Without any more guidance, Anna cleans up her mess. She is so proficient at it, that soon Grace leaves Anna to finish and returns to me on the couch. My awe and gratitude is clear when I simply put my arm around Grace's shoulder.

"Angel." Grace informs me.

"Yes." I smile and lean closer to her. "You are."

A blush creeps into Grace's cheeks. It's adorable. She breaks from my touch to put her hands over her face; making her the cutest girl in the land.

When a small laugh escapes my lips, Grace looks at me again. No words come out of her and both of us lose our lighthearted expressions and turn serious. We stare at each other for a second too long and begin to lean in for another kiss.

"Brother." Anna demands my attention.

My eyes pop open to see Anna at my knees next to a box full of crayons. I move closer to her. "All done?"

"Done." Anna repeats.

"Good." I pick up the box. "More coloring?" When Anna doesn't speak, I offer the box to her and she takes it back to the table.

I watch Anna color until Grace tugs my elbow, asking me to look at her. "Speaking of parents," Grace starts slowly. "I thought we could take this opportunity of no parents in the castle-"

"-My grandparents are here, Grace."

"-To go see your Dad." Shock breaks me from her. Unconsciously, I move further down the couch. Before I can speak, Grace responds to my jolt. "Come on. We've done it before."

"Yeah. At midnight, when we knew it was Sleepy's shift."

"Henry, I know you miss him and I know you won't go unless you're pushed."

"Grace, even if I wanted to go, which I don't, I couldn't. I have to take care of Anna."

"So?" Grace responds casually. "Take her with us."

I laugh out loud at her preposterous idea. "Right." I load my voice with sarcasm. "My Mom would love that idea. Forget scaring a whole ballroom full of people, now I'm going to take her daughter with Autism to see my abusive father."

"Your father is not abusive, Henry."

"Grace." I warn her.

"And your Mom is not going to find out."

"Someone will."

"Why?" Grace asks innocently. "They never have before."

"Because," I sigh, "My stepfather is Pinocchio and my sister always repeats the last word that she hears."

When Grace stands, I know I don't have a choice - she going to drag my sister and me down to his jail cell. "You're a bad influence on me, Enchanting-Girl," I say as I stand next to her.

Grace kneels and offers her hand to Anna. "Come on, Anna. We're going on a trip."

"Trip." Anna repeats without moving.

"Anna, do you want to come with us?" Grace whispers again. "Come with us, come with brother."

Surprisingly, Anna turns to me. "Brother."

"Let's go, Anna." I offer my hand to her and she takes it. "Brother wants to get in even more trouble than he already is in."

Grace leads us to the nursery door. With my free hand, I hold it open for the two important girls in my life.

Anna says "Brother," again and it echoes through the hall as the three of us find the stairs that lead down to the dungeons.

* * *

A/N: THANK YOU for waiting! I hope the chapter was worth the wait. For me, I have been writing nonstop since May and I just needed/still need a break. I don't like feeling guilty for not updating either :0, so I will definitely post Tallahassee Part 3 before the hiatus ends, but it will most likely be towards the end of the break. Basically, I can imagine this story going on for a long time (given its format) at least through the season, but that doesn't mean I will update all the time. - Does that make sense/work for everyone?


	21. Turn The Lights Down Low

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Four-Oh-Six pm: Turn The Lights Down Low (Or The End To Tallahassee)_

By four o'clock in December, the sun has already begun to set. I sometimes forget how far north we are, as the cold never seems to bother me. My indifference to cold must have played a part in volunteering to watch Henry's horseback riding practice. That, and of course, the fact that I've missed every kind of 'practice' my son has ever had.

I lean my elbows on the railing, watching Henry trot around the ring. His sits up very nicely, lifting himself up and down with his horse's movements. I put on a smile as he rides to me, but automatically lose it when he passes. Shifting my weight to my other leg, I reach up to my ponytail, letting it out and waiting for a gust of wind to take hold of it.

My wish instantly brings up events of the past week. It's funny how a simple action, like letting your down, can bring in a wave of memories; the yelling, the fighting, the tears. If I was really being honest, watching Henry ride might have been an excuse to escape everything rather than a desire to ease my guilt as a mother.

Finally, a gust of wind does blow past me, forcing my hair back. I bring my hands up to my face and wipe them over it in attempt to reduce the tension I am holding there.

"Hey." I hear his whisper behind me. I don't turn at it, hoping to extend my escape a few seconds longer. Without turning, I feel him beside me, brushing his arm over mine when he rests it on the fence. "Trying to escape?"

I shake my head softly and I can't help a smile from teasing my lips. "Don't pretend like you know me so well, Neal." I whisper back.

"I'm not." He continues quietly. "I can notice when someone is overwhelmed though," He shrugs.

Still focusing on Henry, I comment, "You sound like your Father."

I can't see his reaction, but am surprised when he doesn't raise his voice. "No – Papa would say that and then add a threat to it – or store it in the deep creases in his mind, only to use it against you later."

"Right." I finally look at him. "And you would never do that."

Something happens when our eyes lock. Silent questions are asked, and soon answered, the deeper our gazes hold.

Finally, thinking of August, I tear myself from his hold on me. I try to refocus on Henry's riding only to blur my vision on some point on the horizon.

"I just hate to see you so unhappy." He admits breathlessly.

I laugh at loud at his comment. Shaking my head, I look down at the dirt in the ring.

"It's not his fault, Emma." He defends August for the first time. "Everything that happened between us, the decisions he and I made together, they're not his fault. He was put in an impossible position, and we were trying to do what was best for you."

"Why are you saying this now, Neal?" I whisper, looking up to find that undefined spot in the hills again. "After the week all three of us have had?"

"I don't know…When I came into town – it's not like I was expecting to get back together, but after seeing that you kept my car, all those feelings and hopes that I had twelve years ago rushed back to me. Then finding that the two of you were together – were basically engaged, I kind of lost it. Throw a son in that mix and all hope of control is gone. But," he waits for me to look at him. "It's no excuse, especially considering I left you in the first place."

My forehead creases in doubt and confusion. I move so that I'm facing him and cross my arms. At a normal volume, I question, "What game are you playing?"

"No game," He still whispers and I sense that he's not lying. But, as of late, my superpower seems to be unreliable. "I just want to see you happy, truly. You deserve that. More than anything, I just want you to be happy – you and Henry."

Once again, the looks deepen between us. At some point he places his hand on my cheek and begins to stroke it with his thumb.

Something pulls my gaze from him in the barn's direction. I jerk away from Neal the second I see August staring at us.

Damnit!

As one would expect, after August's and my eyes collide, he starts walking away from me quickly.

"No!" I call after him. "Wait!" I run after August, pulling on his elbow as soon as it's in reach. "Wait." I whisper, begging him to stay.

August does stop, however he doesn't speak, leaving his hurt expression to do all the talking.

"That was nothing, okay?" I move closer to him, when he doesn't respond, doesn't reach out, I lean my forehead to his. "It's nothing." I whisper.

August doesn't move out of our position for a moment and he gives me hope. My heart starts to break, though, when his eyes close to absorb my touch. He pulls away too soon and I physically feel pain in my chest.

"Don't lie to Pinocchio, Emma." He states coldly. "It's a really stupid decision to make."

"Oh," My words slip from my lips before I can help it. "Like you're in any position to tell me about stupid decisions."

August throws his arms in air, taking one more step further away from me. I close my eyes, but hold by ground, giving myself no other option than to wait him out.

"What do you want me to say, Emma?" He asks softly after several minutes of silence.

"Whatever you want to say, August."

Even though he has never used this excuse, I know his words before they are spoken. "You knew who I was before we got together."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say sarcastically. "My bad for seeing the best in you and not realizing that your permanent immaturity and selfishness caused you to steal my money and put me in jail because it was easier than actually being honest with me. On top of that, you break my heart into a thousand pieces causing me not to trust again for the next ten years of my life. Even my forgiveness of Pinocchio makes me look like a fool – and worse, it makes me feel like one."

"Well, I was never good enough for you."

"What crap!" I raise my voice at him. "You don't get to use that excuse. Not after everything."

"Oh, ok, Princess Emma," He says angrily. "What excuse would you like to hear?"

His use of my title, a title that we only use in mockery, sends icicles through my skin.

"You're an asshole." I state.

"That works too." He shrugs my accusation off, shooting anger through my veins. "But don't fool yourself into think he-" August motions to Neal, who is still watching Henry ride. "Isn't. Because, believe me, he's even worse than his Father."

"Believe you?" My eyes go into slits. "How can I believe anything you say at this point?"

August's body loses all its tension; the fight, the hope in him disappears. Part of me can't blame him, I know. I just broke our unspoken rule to never use Pinocchio's stereotypical traits against him – at least not in the way I just did.

"Well," he whispers. "It's clear you can't." He pauses, waiting for me to respond. When I don't, he adds. "Isn't it?"

Tears form behind my eyes as all trust breaks between us. I don't let them out, though; determine not to cry until I'm alone.

Another gust of wind blows through the barn, burning my face with coldness. Though, neither one of us wants to be here anymore, we keep each other frozen, stuck in this place waiting for someone to speak.

I look into his blue eyes, which are filled with hurt, and I'm surprised to find longing there. That, more than anything, fully breaks my heart. How can he, after everything that just passed between us, still want me?

The second August's realizes my discovery, however, his longing disappears. He replaces it with coldness.

My awareness of his longing, I think, is what propels him to finally speak. "We're done here, right?"

I take a step closer to him. "August-"

He looks at me one last time before walking out of the barn without turning back.

A single tear spills out before he disappears. I take a step in his direction, wondering if my body will let me go after him. When it doesn't, thick tears start running down my face. I fall back against a barn wall, hitting the back of my head pretty hard. I don't feel pain, though, and I start to wonder if this will be what my life will be like from now on.

Is feeling anything in my life even possible without Pinocchio in it?

* * *

A/N: Well, you know what they say - the best part of a break up is getting back together.


	22. Walk These Halls Alone

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Seven-Oh-Six am: Walk These Halls Alone_

A creaking sound down the passageway from my cell jerks me from my half slumber. I stand automatically. Hope stirs in me when I know it shouldn't. Just because today marks a year since I was locked up, doesn't mean there's any more hope of my release than yesterday. Still, a year is enough to attempt to change behavior and truly understand the crime I was charged with. The reasons I'm locked up, I understand now, have nothing to do with blowing up a mill or hurting my son. No, the reason I'm locked away and hidden is the fact that people at court see me as a threat; as someone to fear instead of to befriend.

"Brother." A young girl's voice disappoints my hopes quickly before I realize who she is talking to and then excitement creates butterflies in my stomach.

"Come on, Anna." Henry gently encourages his sister. "Let's keep walking."

He's here! My son! I turn my back in his direction; running my fingers through my hair and tucking my shirt in. I scan my cell, panic arising when I notice my unmade bed. I run to it, hoping I can straighten it before he rounds the corner.

"No." Anna whispers again. Through her voice, I hear her reaching out to Henry, "Brother."

There's awkwardness in her voice that I don't understand. I'm grateful the dungeons have an echo; for it is the only way I can hear her speaking under her breath. My forehead creases at their hold up. Why did Henry bring her here? I'm sure no one in his family would have allowed it.

"Okay, Anna" Henry whispers. He makes a loud grunting noise before saying, "You're heavy."

A different female voice echoes through the passageway. "Are you sure you have to carry her?" I soon recognize the voice as Grace's. I smile; it has been a while since I've seen her.

"She won't come any further, Grace." Henry tells his girlfriend. "She's probably scared. She's never been down here before."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Grace asks in a genuine way and I begin to wonder as well.

"Everything." Henry replies simply.

Grace rounds the corner first. She smiles when she sees me and I return it. She hasn't changed at all. Her green dress flows around her ankles and brings out her eyes. Somehow, she reminds me of Emma; something about the combination of a carefree spirit and a deep compassionate streak influencing every decision she makes.

"Good morning," Grace greets me, leaning against the cold clay wall close to me cell.

"Hey Grace," I step closer to my second favorite visitor. "Nice to see you."

"You too," she crosses her arms and nods, "As always."

After sharing a smile for with her, I turn to my son. Henry has a serious face when he approaches me with his sister. Anna has her back towards me while she clings tightly to her brother. The sight is overwhelming. I have never seen Henry handle something, or someone, with so much care and love; and that's saying something after watching him interact with both his mother and his girlfriend.

"Thanks for coming," is all I can think to say to him.

"It's been a while."

My son's words make my heart swell and I'm speechless. I blink once, twice, and I can see him growing up before me. He is taller than a month ago. Anna shifts in his arms and she makes me think she's much younger than her age.

"It that Anna?" I ask, hoping for an introduction.

"Oh? Yeah." Henry looks from me to his sister. "Anna, can you say 'hi' to my friend?" Henry turns her around his arms and I'm blown away at how much she reminds me of August. Her nose is exactly the same as her father's, of course, and her black curls flow past her shoulders exactly like her mother's do. "Can you say 'hi,' Anna?"

After a few long moments, Anna replies, "No," under her breath and squirms in Henry's arms in attempt to turn around.

Once Henry settles her back in her previous position, he looks back at me apologetically. "She's shy."

"She has Pinocchio's nose," I comment softly, causing Grace to laugh out loud.

Henry smiles, turning from me to Grace, "She doesn't lie, though."

"Which begs the question," My curiosity takes over me. "What would were thinking, bringing her down here?"

"Um, well," Henry shifts uncomfortably, trying to come up with an answer.

"It was my idea, sir." Grace speaks up. "I know Henry hasn't seen you in a while and I thought this morning was the perfect opportunity since Emma and Pinocchio are away for the morning talking to my Dad."

Jealousy burns within me. Isn't that my job? It my responsibility and Emma's to talk to our son's girlfriend's parents. Pinocchio, the stepfather, has nothing to do with it. Jealously is replaced with anger as I picture that puppet-of-a-man replacing me and doing my job.

_No. Stop. _I tell myself. Thoughts like that are exactly why I am still in here in the first place. I feel my face change its expression, trying to recover from the slip I just made. Shame fills me when I realize Henry has been watching me, probably understanding every thought that has passed through my head.

"No." Anna speaks in response to nothing. My forehead creases again as I try to understand her behavior. I'm reminded of the rumors that surfaced about Anna a year ago. I haven't thought much about them since, and only now do I realize there might have been more truth to them than I ever imagined.

_Oh, Emma._

"Anna, it's ok." Henry tells her softly and he puts his hand on her back. "It's okay."

"No." Anna repeats again, lifting her hand and slamming it back down on Henry's shoulder.

_Whoa._ My eyes widen in disbelief as she hits Henry's shoulder again.

Grace stands from leaning on the wall and spreads her arms out. "Henry, give her to me. I'll take her."

"No. No." Henry holds Anna tighter to him. "That'll only make it worse. She's just scared." For some reason I don't understand, Anna calms at Henry's stronger squeeze. "See?" He asks his sister sweetly. "It's okay."

"Henry…" Grace warns him.

"We should probably go," he tells Grace more than me. My heart sinks. Even though I understand his decision, I can't help wishing Grace could take Anna and give me a few more minutes with my son.

"I'll take her," Grace offers as if reading my mind. "You stay."

"No." Henry leans his head closer to Anna's. "I could never do that."

Pride for my son compels me to stand straighter. He is more than I could ever wish him to be. After years of trying to prove myself to the contrary, now I realize I have absolutely nothing to offer my son.

"Henry!" August's booming voice echoes down the passageway.

_Shit._

"Shit!" Henry voices my thoughts.

"Shit." Anna repeats.

"No. No." Henry stresses his words, his regret, when talking to Anna. "Be quiet, Anna."

"Anna?" August's concern is clear as we hear him running down the hall. When he turns the corner and finds the four of us, he rushes to take his daughter from Henry. As soon as he does, though, Anna starts to scream. Her scream amplifies in the dungeon, making the whole situation worse. "What the hell were you thinking, Henry, bringing her down here?" He yells over Anna's screaming.

"Give her to me," Henry yells back. "She needs to calm down or we'll all be stuck here in a cave in."

"Are you out of your mind? Just because I covered for you with your mom when you come down here doesn't mean you could ever – ever bring my daughter down here."

"I know that!" Henry yells again, stepping closer to his stepfather and taking Anna out of his arms. "Shhh…Shhh…Anna…It's okay." Henry holds Anna tightly again and her screaming somehow simmers down.

After a meaningful look to August, Henry begins towards the dungeon exit. August angrily follows without a word and Grace is the only one who stops to say goodbye. She steps forwards a couple of steps before turning back to me.

"Well, until next time." She whispers, her smile bringing me more hope than her words. I can't help doubting there will be a next time after our secret has just been revealed.

August covered for Henry to Emma? He knew Henry was coming to see me?

"Thanks Grace. Take care of Henry for me."

"I will." We look at each other for a moment. Grace's expression turns to pity as she turns away. "Bye."

"Bye."

I keep my eyes on Grace until she turns the corner. Once I'm alone, my head falls. I wonder, once I'm out, if that's how people will perceive me: not as someone to fear or befriend, only as someone to pity.

Just like they used to look at Papa.

A force turns my head upward. There's something sticking out between two rocks in the upper corner of my cell. I reach for it, wondering why, after a year stuck here, I have only found it now. Unraveling the scroll, I notice the handwriting belongs to Papa.

In magic ink, he has covered the parchment repeating the word, 'Adult.'

* * *

A/N: Why did Rumple give Bae a way out (other than being his son)? Look at vignette's #8 and #10. As for me, I'm looking forward to breakup fallout!


	23. We Can Feel So Far

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Seven Pm: We Can Feel So Far_

Shattering beer bottles jerk me from my slumber. Lifting my head to see how they broke takes too much effort; and I don't care enough to exert it. I watch the back of my door. I lie on my stomach and keep my head glued to my pillow, waiting for somebody to open my door – somebody to care.

No one ever does, though. Why would they? Caring for the selfish fairytale character makes people feel foolish. People would rather kept their pride than help an eternal selfish character. I want to pull the covers over me, to see nothing but darkness, but I can't move. I can't do anything but stare at the door and wait for it to open.

My body won't fall back to sleep, my eyelids won't close. I watch the door for hours. No thoughts enter my brain. No senses come through me. I am wooden.

I wouldn't want it any other way. A wooden puppet is such so much better than a real boy. I was wrong to wish to be a real boy in the first place. The only quality that differentiates puppets from humans is the ability to feel. And why would anybody wish to feel anything? It is much better here, in my bed, emulating my wooden self, than to go out and experience the pain humans suffer through that confirms they are alive.

No one expects anything from a puppet. A puppet has no responsibilities, no commitments, and no potential at all. That's how I was created. People were wrong to expect anything from me. My own failings were never my fault. I was created to fail. Wood's purpose is to burn, not to create puppets and much less to create silhouettes of human beings.

After hours, my eyelids fall. I experience, yet again, regret after wishing for a desire. I wished to see nothing when my eyes shut. Instead, all I see is her: Her smile, her curls, her body curves, her lips, her hazel eyes, her favorite boots, the way her jeans hug her legs' form, my favorite sweater of hers, tightening around her chest – emphasizing her breasts.

That's all she is to me now. Not a savior. Not someone to protect. No, she is a puppet, just like me. Providing womanly features for others to appreciate is the only purpose she has now. For what other purpose could a woman like her have? Surely the others see how truly selfish the savior is, more so than her wooden protector.

She is the one who refused to believe; refused to try to break the curse; refused to listen – to trust. Her selfishness caused the town to be frozen in their fake lives for a year longer than they had to. If anything, if anybody exists in Storybrooke that's selfish, it's their savior. How can they not see it? They must be too blinded by their own stereotypes.

"Pinocchio." The announcement of my name disrupts my thoughts. Given I would know his small voice anywhere, I see no reason to open my eyes, especially since they took so much effort to shut in the first place. "I know you're not sleeping, you selfish puppet. The smart choice here would be to acknowledge your visitor. I know you have been waiting for days for someone to come through your door and give you some attention."

"Get out annoying cricket!"

"Excuse me? This is your Father's house. You have no business telling me to leave nor do you have any business staying here without pulling your weight."

"Well," My eyelids are opening. I find the strength to turn directions and face the wall. "My Father abandoned me when I was seven. He has a lot to make up before he starts expecting me to pull any kind of weight."

Instead of calling me out, an appalled Jiminy mocks me. "Of course he does. He sent you away. Every bad decision you've ever made is entirely his fault. Especially concerning Emma, right? If he didn't send you away, you wouldn't have screwed up her life in the first place."

"Get out!" I scream before pulling the covers over my head.

It is silent in the room. Hope sparks at the possibility that the cricket has already left. Then I hear a shuffling noise reminding me of his a presence.

"What you're feeling right now. It has nothing to with being Pinocchio or being selfish. You keep making excuses for what you do and who you are. The excuse is you're human. I'm not going to sit here and tell you ignoring your father and your responsibilities to him while you hide under the covers is okay. But," Jiminy softens his already small voice. "I will tell you that it's understandable, normal even."

I laugh at him.

"Pinocchio you are dealing with your first breakup from the first relationship that meant anything to you. I'd be concerned if you didn't have this reaction to some degree. It's human, Pinocchio. Your challenge now, is accepting what happened and trying to move on."

I throw the blankets off. "I accept what happened! We broke up. We are no longer together. Despite being each other's true loves, we are not getting back together. I got it."

"Don't lie, Pinocchio. Just because your nose doesn't grow anymore doesn't mean it isn't obvious."

"Lying is good for me." I retort.

"Clearly." Jiminy states. "Remind me again. What were the numerous reasons causing you and Emma to break up?"

Crickets need to learn when not to chirp. They think they produce a pretty sound. They don't.

I pull my blankets over my head again.

"I have something for you." Jiminy tells me like his announcement could change my behavior.

"I don't want anything."

"Of course you do." I hear him pull up a chair. He continues in his small voice, never daring to raise it. Damn righteous bug. "You want your Father to come in and indulge your pity act. You want Emma to forgive you. You want to return to your puppet state – where you thought life was easier, but it wasn't. You want people to understand that what you did, you did it entirely for Emma's benefit and not your own. The fact that people can't see that, that you are being punished for doing the right thing, is eating you alive."

I hate crickets.

"That's what you want." He keeps chirping. "You want to know what I want?"

"I don't care."

"I want you to turn around, sit up, and start treating me with a little respect."

"Go to hell." I demand from under my covers.

"Apparently, we're already in it." Jiminy laughs off my insult. "Now I have something for you. Take your covers off and turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your former conscious and I know you better than anyone."

If Jiminy really knew me better than anyone, he would know the only thing I would want to see is her and we both know she isn't here. She's never here.

We both wait, in a stalemate, until I make a decision. I kick off my blanket with fury and spin around like a wild animal.

There, on a stool, is Father's wooden swan cuckoo clock. It is fixed. I remember Emma bringing it over a week ago, asking Father to make some small repairs. Baelfire surprised us at Goofy's Ice Cream Parlor the next day.

"You know what you want Pinocchio," Jiminy tells me, his voice breaking. "The problem is, you don't know what you need." The bug kneels by my headboard and continues. "You need this clock. All you need is hope, some light at the end of the tunnel. The cuckoo clock is your light at the end of the tunnel. When you get your act together, present it back to Emma. You know how much she loves this clock. You can win her back."

My legs are stiff when I use them to pivot off the bed. Sitting up, I reach for a half-empty beer can on my bed stand. I look at the can for a moment. Then I hurl it at the clock, destroying it into pieces.

Just like my heart.

"Pinocchio!" Jiminy yells abhorrently.

Crickets are easy to ignore. He hasn't recovered from his shock when I decide to stand erect. I locate my leather jacket on the floor. Some of the cuckoo clock's pieces have fell on it. I don't care. I pick the jacket up and let the pieces roll to the floor.

Opening the door, I hear, "Where are you going?"

I shrug. "Come with me, cricket." I offer and look at him directly for the first time. "Apparently I need a babysitter."

I run out of Father's house. When I reach my bike I'm surprised to Jiminy is only feet behind. He mounts it without permission. "We're in this together, Pinocchio. Wherever you are going, I'm going also."

I smile. "Someone finally willing to stick with me for once. Good."

"Anything for you."

I mount my bike and sit in front of Jiminy. The engine starts and my smile widens. I only have eyes for the road ahead. Breaking the speed limit before we reach the town boarder is only one of the events in the next week that I am looking forward to. Who said selfish puppets don't have any fun?

Especially when I feel the cricket's grip loosen around me when we cross the town boarder.

* * *

A/N: What's the point of writing Pinocchio if I don't, well, write Pinocchio? Anna's POV next week. :)


	24. From So Close

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Noon: From So Close_

Boom. Boom. It crashes. The sand falls through my hand. Boom. Boom. It crashes. I want more sand. I take more sand. Boom. Boom. It crashes. Sand is under my fingernails. It stays there.

I dig for more sand. I put it in the bucket. Boom. Boom. It crashes.

"Henry, I just don't understand why you hid it from me in the first place." Mom says.

The bucket is full. I push my hands on the top. Sand is in my fingernails. I clap.

"Mom, I didn't think of it as hiding. I just didn't want to put pressure on anyone, especially Grace." Brother says.

The sand in my fingernails is gone. I push my hands in the bucket. Boom! Boom! It crashes! I see black when the water is loud.

Someone touches me. "Why are your eyes closed, Anna?" Dad says.

I push out of his arms. I run away. I jump. The sand falls off my legs. I sit. I put my fingers in the sand. It is nice.

Dad sits next to me. "Anna. Don't run away on the beach. Dad gets scared."

Boom! Boom! It crashes!

I grab sand. It runs out of my fingers.

"Are you listening to me, Anna? I need you to be safe. You need to be safe for Dad."

I push my legs more into the sand. I laugh.

Dad puts his hand on my face. "I like to see you smile." I move his hand away.

My hands are under the sand. I am still.

"This is a very special beach, Anna. Can I tell you why?" Dad says.

Boom! Boom! It crashes!

It is loud. I see black.

Dad laughs. He pulls me from the sand. He holds me tight. His arms squeeze me. Just like the sand does.

"You know what I know about you, Anna? You love the beach because the sand's sensory calms you. But you hate the waves' loud noise!" Dad says.

"Noise!" I say.

Boom. Boom. It crashes.

He squeezes me more. He rocks me to the side. He kisses my shoulder. "Yeah. The ocean is loud, isn't it?"

"Loud." I say.

Dad stands. I want to move from his arms. "Let's go away from the ocean." He looks at me. I look at the sand. "You want to run to the dunes?"

"Run." I say.

"Okay." He puts me down. Sand is on my feet. Dad takes my hand. "Lets run to the dunes."

I run. The sand goes in and out of my toes.

Dad stops. "Is it quieter here?" He sits. He is holding my hand. He looks at me. I look at the grass. It is long grass. "Anna? No more loud?" Dad says.

"No more." I say.

"Good." I am in Dad's lap. I watch the grass move. "Can I tell you my story now, Anna?" Dad says.

I take a blade of grass. It moves in my fingers. I like the grass.

"Dad wants to tell you a story." Dad says. "Will you listen to my story?"

I watch the grass in my hand. It moves.

"Okay." Dad puts his chin on my shoulder. "It starts – well – like how every great story starts." He squeezes me. I laugh. "Once upon a time, there was an old man and he wanted a son. He was a great toy maker. One day, he made a puppet out of wood. He painted the puppet's eyes blue." Dad touches my eyelids. I see black. "He painted on a red mouth." Dad touches my mouth. "And he carved the puppet a nose." Dad squishes my nose. I laugh. "But the wood kept on growing. It was magical wood. His nose was half the length of his arms." Dad's fingers move down my arms and stop at my elbows. "That night, he wished his puppet could be a real boy. The Blue Fairy granted his wish and the next day, the old man woke up to find a talking, moving puppet."

The grass flies away. My hands go under the sand.

"The Blue Fairy promised that if the puppet was a good boy, one day he would become a real boy. The man was happy. The boy was happy. He wanted to be a real boy. He promised he would do everything it took to be a real boy. The old man's best friend was a bug and - "

"Bug!" I say.

"Yes, Anna! The old man's best friend was a bug and his name was Jiminy. The bug promised he would help the puppet become a real boy and he would look after him. But, the bug followed him everywhere and the puppet didn't like that. The bug was annoying."

"Bug!" I say.

Dad squeezes me. "Bug! The bug annoyed the puppet because he followed him everywhere. He knew how much trouble he was getting into. He knew all of his secrets. One day, though, when the puppet was being bad, the bug told the puppet that the old man, his father, was missing. The puppet was scared. He had to be unselfish to save his father. Then, he was glad the bug was with him. The bug wanted to save his best friend and the puppet wanted to save his father. Together, they went under water and walked in the sand," Dad takes some sand and spills it on my legs. "Until they found the whale that was said to have captured the old man. The puppet was really scared. He tried to ignore his feelings to save his father."

Green is in the sky. I stand.

"Anna, my story is almost done. Can you listen to the end?" Dad carries me back to his lap. I watch the green in the sky. "The puppet and the bug went into the whale and found the old man. They worked really hard to get out of the whale. Once they did, once they were free, the whale chased them as they sailed away. They kept sailing until they reached this very beach. See those rocks over there?" Dad takes my hand and points away. "That's where they landed. The scary whale tried to follow us, but he got stuck. The puppet saved his father! The bug saved his friend-"

"Bug!" I stand.

"Anna. Please." Dad says.

The bug comes closer. I run to it. "Bug!"

"Hi Anna!" The bug says. "How are you today?"

Dad puts his arms around my belly. "Anna, I just told you not to run away." He squeezes me. I scream. "Anna!"

The bug flies close to me. Air is on my face. The bug puts his finger to his lips. "Shhhh!"

I put my finger to my lips. "Shhhh!"

"As always, Jiminy. You appear at exactly the right moment." Dad says.

"Hi Pinocchio." The bug says. "Having a good day at the beach?"

"We are, actually. It's been a nice, quiet family day." Dad says.

"Good." The bug says. "And how are you today, Anna?"

The bug stays still.

"Today." I say.

"Are you good today, Anna? Or are you bad?" The bug says.

"Bad." I say.

"Jiminy…" Dad says.

The bug touches my nose. I laugh. "I don't think you're having a bad day, Anna. Are you having a good day?"

"Good day." I say. I reach for the bug. He files down. There is a red bug in the sand. "Bug!" I say.

"Ow!" Dad jumps in the sand. He looks down. "Watch where you're going, Sebastian!"

"I am sorry, Sire. I was on my way back under the sea when I heard Jiminy Cricket's voice."

The bug stands in the sand. He is small. "And that stopped your music because?"

"I was wondering if you had passed my message to Pinocchio yet." The red bug says.

"Not yet, Sebastian. Things have been busy on land and I haven't had the chance." The green bug says.

"What message?" Dad says.

"Well, that's why life is better under the sea, Jiminy." The red bug says.

"So you keep saying!" Dad is loud. "What's the message?"

"Monstro has returned to our kingdom, Pinocchio. He is threatening our people. You must come and save us." The red bug says.

"I can't come and save you!" Dad is loud. I fall to the sand. It squeezes me. "I am not a puppet anymore, remember? I can't breath under water!"

"You might not be a puppet, but you're still the most selfish guy I have ever met." The red bug says.

"If I could save you and your kingdom, I would Sebastian. There's nothing I can do about it." Dad says.

"He is one of your villains, Pinocchio. You know you're the only one who has the power to defeat him."

"Ah. Well. Don't you love how natural law works in our land?" Dad says.

The green bug flies up. "Pinocchio. This is not the time for sarcasm."

"Oh, look. How cute." The red bug pushes himself on his back feet. "Jiminy Cricket is still trying to be Pinocchio's conscious. That must bring back so many memories."

It is loud. I run away.

Boom. Boom. It crashes.

"Anna!" Mom says.

"Anna!" The green bug says. The bug flies pass me. "Anna! Stop!"

I stop. Water touches my feet. Mom lifts me up before more water comes.

Boom. Boom. It crashes.

I don't see Bug.

"Bug." I say.

"No. Anna." Mom is shaking. "Bug all gone."

I kick her. "Bug."

"Anna. It's okay." Mom says.

"Bug." I kick her. "Bug." I hit her. "Bug."

"Anna. Safe hands." Mom says.

I look at the sand. Green is there. I point. "Bug."

Mom goes down. I push away from her arms. I go to the bug.

"Anna! Mom needs to hold you!" Mom says.

I pick the bug up. "Bug?"

Mom's arms are around me. I kick her. "Bug?"

I squeeze the bug. "Bug?"

I hear a noise. Mom stops squeezing me.

The bug moves. "Anna?"

"Bug!"

"Anna!" Dad runs to us. He lifts me up. Mom touches my back.

"Bug!"

Dad walks from the water. "Yeah, that's right." He kisses my cheek. "You saved Bug."

My head is on his shoulder. I look back. I see Bug flying. I see the water.

Boom. Boom. It crashes.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for waiting an extra day! _xoxo._


	25. You're Passing Me By

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock 

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Midnight: You're Passing Me By_

On weekends, drinking hot chocolate together at midnight was my tradition with Henry while the girls were away. Now they're back I miss our tradition. There's something magical about Henry's laughter in the dead of night. His laugher had the power to erase my cares and worries away. Now, I sit up in bed and sigh. No matter how much I might want to, I know waking up Snow after she had such a hard time falling asleep wouldn't be my best decision. Still, hot chocolate is calling to me. After I pull on a shirt and lean down to kiss her short hair I head down the stairs in the stillness of the night.

I stop halfway down the stairs. Emma's blond curls glow through the room's darkness. I watch my daughter for a moment. She's slouching over the kitchen table in her pajamas. Sadness takes overs when I discover I'm not surprised to find her here. A few days after her breakup, I should have expected her here. How many nights has her broken heart kept her awake?

Instead of announcing myself, I continue to tiptoe down the stairs. A sudden urge comes over me to reach out and kiss Emma's hair. I'm surprised there are knots forming in my stomach when I bend down. I close my eyes at our touch and feel Emma turning in my direction.

I haven't kissed my daughter since I sent her away the day she was born.

I refuse to look at her until I've collected myself. I sit down.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Emma whispers to me.

"No. Not at all." I managed to look at my daughter. Despite her beauty her sadness eclipses her features. Tears fight to fall down her cheeks. Curls cling to her neck. Her forehead won't let go of its creases. The sight of her disheartens me. "I woke up craving hot chocolate."

A smile breaks through Emma's sorrow. "I know the feeling."

Her response inspires me to add lightness in our conversation. "Huh. Really? Then where is it?" I tease her. "Don't tell me you stopped at the table without making it to the kitchen."

"Sorry." Emma whispers her reply and her smile fades.

"No, I didn't mean-" I go speechless when I follow her eye line. There, further down the table is her wooden swan cuckoo clock, smashed into pieces. A single gasp escapes my lips. "Emma…"

"I didn't break it, if that's what you were thinking." Emma assumes my thought process when the truth is the sight before me halted my thinking altogether. "The Blue Fairy brought over after dinner." My eyebrows furrow at why Anna would do such a thing. She knows how much pain Emma is in. Emma takes a deep breath and reads me correctly when she answers my unspoken question. "She thought I could fix it."

Intrigue sparks in me and I sit up straighter. "Can you?"

"I don't know," Emma whispers.

Something in her whisper, pain or sadness, leads me to examine Emma further. Her eyes are reaching out to the clock. Her hands entwined together.

"Do you want to?" I ask breathlessly.

"I don't know," Emma states.

I nod. "Okay. Fair enough."

Emma snaps her head away from the clock in my direction. "That's all you have to say?"

"It's your decision to make. I can talk to you about the technicalities of magic; how it more psychological than physical. You know you have a greater chance of actually fixing it if you want to than if you are torn to or have no desire to fix it at all." Emma bows her head. I am reminded of when my mother would tell me something I already knew but didn't want to hear. "But let's not ignore the metaphor screaming at us either."

She does anyway, despite my words. "I want to fix for Geppetto. He made such a beautiful clock. I hate to see his work destroyed like this."

"Emma," I use my warning voice I've used so many times with Snow. "If you want to fix your cuckoo clock for Geppetto, then you're fixing it for all the wrong reasons. It was his gift to you for your birthday, not the other way around."

Emma doesn't reply to me. Once I let go of waiting for her to speak; half expecting some smartass comment, I sink into our silence. It is nice. Perfect, actually. I never have quiet time with my daughter. We're always on the go. There's always some emergency, some problem we have to solve, or some person we have to help.

After several minutes, I offer, "Can I make some hot chocolate?"

When Emma lifts her head and turns to me her smile returns. "Yeah."

"Good." I wait for a moment before pushing myself up; soaking up every moment I can with my daughter.

"So," Emma starts when I leave the table. "Explain to me this hot chocolate at midnight thing. Isn't that a bad idea? How do you ever fall back to sleep?"

I reach for a pan in the cupboard and then look for some coco powder. "It helps me fall to sleep for some reason. I don't quite understand it."

Emma nods, but says nothing.

I take a chance in saying, "Does it ever keep you up?"

"No. Never."

With my back is towards Emma, I smile. Learning about qualities we have in common fills me with unimaginable joy. I watch the coco in the pan. When it's ready, I grab milk from the fridge and add it in,

I stir the chocolate in silence. The eeriness of midnight floats into the room. Soon, though, a distance tapping disturbs our atmosphere. I turn to find the source. Emma is drumming her fingers on the table. Coffee cups thud on the counter when I put them down. Their noise halts Emma's drumming and she looks up at me. An embarrassed expression is on her face. She has no idea how cute she is.

I bring the filled cups to the table. When I sit down I push her cup closer to her. Finally, she smiles. It's only for a moment, though, because the next second she looks down in reflection.

The eerie silence fills the room again. I take comfort in watching Emma's expression change as she processes her thoughts. She breaks the silence when she whispers, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

Emma braces herself. She meets my gaze and inhales. "Do you believe a person goes through life waiting for their one true love and once they find that person, they're destined to be with them forever?"

My breath catches. The enormity of question and the obvious undertones make me hesitate. "I-"

"I mean, I know it's cliché, asking Prince Charming this," Emma looks down. She keeps her eyes shut much longer than a normal blink. "But I was just wondering if a person could have a different true love in different stages in their lives."

"Emma…" I whisper her name. "You know I can't answer this for you. Your answer is something you'll have to discover for yourself."

"Right." Emma's voice rises above a whisper. "So because I am destined to be with August means I have to forgive him in order to be happy."

"I didn't say that."

"There's no point in exploring my feelings for Neal, right? If I'm destined for August then opening myself to Neal will only hurt all three of us, right? In the end?"

"No," I speak softly and keep looking at Emma. "The truth sets us free, Emma. Maybe you need to explore things with Neal before you return to August." A frustrated expression comes to Emma's face and I add, "If that's the decision your heart tells you to make." I wait for her to speak. She doesn't. "Whatever happens, the only way you will be happy is if you follow your heart."

Emma takes a minute to run her hands over her face and through her hair. Her voice lowers its volume when she speaks again. "You know he took Jiminy across the border," she flips the subject. "The Blue Fairy and Geppetto are freaking out."

I had heard a muttering about that around town. "And, how do you feel about it?"

Emma sips her hot chocolate before answers. The way she puts her cup down tells me how angry she is more than her words do. "It's the most selfish thing he's ever done. I can't believe I didn't see his immaturity before; how much blinded I was by it."

"Emma, come on." I level her with my eyes. "He wasn't always immature and you know it. He has been a strong support to you when you've had none."

"Why are you defending him?"

I sigh. For once I feel a desire to turn from my daughter. My eyes fall on the cuckoo clock's crumbled pieces in their inhospitable box. "Because…no one else will. And after learning the whole story…how he kept you safe, how he protected you-" Emma's lips part to object. I rise my palm to quiet her. "Okay, maybe not in the right way or in the way you would have liked, but he did. I can't help but feel grateful to him." I turn back to Emma. She is starring at me with tears in her eyes. "No matter what he has done in the past or what characteristics excuse his behavior now, that man loves you Emma." A tear falls down my own cheek. "Love is rare in your life, Emma. That's partly my fault, I know. But to see you push away a man who loves you and has done everything he can to put you first breaks my heart."

Emma blinks. Her tears start running down her face and won't stop. "I don't know what to do," she admits.

I smile softly. "No," My hand covers hers. "You know what to do, you just want to do it for all the wrong reasons."

"What do you mean?" Emma asks through her tears.

"I mean, you keep talking about how you should fix the clock for Geppetto and how he and the Blue Fairy are freaking about his disappearance…but it's you, isn't it? You have been sitting here frozen for hours; tearing yourself apart while you try to decide if love is worth it. Whether it's worth finding the magic within yourself to fix the clock or if it's worth it to revert back to your old life and leave your family in order to bring Pinocchio and Jiminy home."

Emma closes her eyes when her last tears fall off her eyelashes. "Well," she turns to me and smiles. "Look who suddenly knows his daughter so well."

My heart swells at her words. "No," I admit softly. "I just know finding someone or fixing something for other people before you decide how you feel about it is going to make you feel even worse." I pause and turn back to the broken clock. "Don't fix it for Geppetto. Don't rescue Jiminy for the Blue Fairy. Act when and how your own heart tells you to. Don't do it for anybody else, Emma. Do it for you."

I push the box containing the clock remains towards Emma. I surprise myself when I reach for her cheek and pull her towards me. For the third time in my life, I kiss my daughter's hair. "Do it for you, Emma," I whisper. "That's the only way you can start to heal."

I stand and reluctantly release her. When I look up towards the bedroom, my body feels how tired I am. I know if I look back at my daughter now, I will never make it up the stairs.

My hand is on the doorknob before I mange to look back at her. I smile at the image before me:

Two broken clock pieces are twiddling between her fingers; pleading Emma to bond them back together.

* * *

A/N: Well - Happy Monday! I tried to finish it for you guys yesterday - but alas here we are. Hope you enjoyed the Charming/Emma bonding, I've wanted to write their scene for a while. _xoxo._


	26. Waiting On The Second Plane

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_One-Fifteen pm: ...Waiting On The Second Plane_

Walking on my kingdom's boardwalk can be therapeutic. I never noticed that before. Despite living at court when I was a boy, I never thought to try it. Perhaps it was too close to the time Father and I almost lost our lives here.

I stop walking to lean on the divider separating the land from the ocean. I put my elbows on the brick and feel sand press into my skin. It's an uncomfortable feeling, but I try to ignore it. I let the sound of the ocean overwhelm my senses instead. The waves boom and crash into the ocean wall hard. I smile when my daughter's image appears in my head. The sound of the ocean overwhelms her too, but not in a positive way.

My smile fades when I look across the water. Somewhere out there is a whale with my name attached to him. A whale who will stop at nothing until King Triton's kingdom is destroyed. I bring my hands up to cover my face. I know Ursula is behind this. Since every villain was left in Storybrooke when we found a way home, my Ursula theory is far-fetched. Though I don't have proof, and can never find any, Ursula communicating with Monstro is the only explanation that makes sense.

Placing blame doesn't matter, though, right? It's not what a brave and unselfish man would do. I've spent enough time around Jiminy to know the past shouldn't matter. I have to ignore the part of me who would rather go back to Storybrooke to kill Ursula than find a way to go under water to defeat Monstro here. Yes, my last thought is selfish. Especially since I feel going back to Storybrooke would be easier than defeating Monstro in our homeland.

I slide my hands over my face and run my fingers through my hair. I return my gaze to the endless ocean and wonder if there's a magic device to help me locate a whale underneath the waves. Rumpelstiltskin pops into my head. I shudder, trying to erase him from my mind.

Only when my head turns to the right do I notice her. Emma's bright green dress sleeves fall over the side of the brick wall. Our gazes connect only for a moment. I look at her long enough to notice her astute smile before ripping my attention from her and returning it to the vast ocean.

I wait for Emma to speak. She doesn't. Somehow I knew she wouldn't. We've been through enough together for her to know how to use her presence to her advantage. I remember when Emma found Jiminy and I in Boston after I left Storybrooke in response to our breakup. Her ability to communicate her opinion of a situation without speaking can be infuriating.

"You doing it again," I whisper over the waves.

Her smile widens. "Doing what?"

I turn to face Emma. "You are doing that thing."

"'That thing?'" She moves hair out of her face. "August. You are not a good writer if you use phrases like 'that thing.' You know it is unspecific and universal. On top of that, it sounds bad. Writers should never use such a phrase."

I am tempted to go into a debate about my writing and what she really thinks of it, but don't. I redirect my attention to the ocean. "You are still doing it." A smile teases my lips.

"Doing what?" Emma repeats. I don't have to look at her to know she is gloating over me.

"That thing. Your thing." If I could use a better adjective then I would. Right now it is the only word I can use to describe her behavior. "Your way of communicating that you know exactly what I am thinking and feeling by ignoring the subject. You know you can stand there in silence and I'll give you whatever you want." I dare myself to look at my wife. Emma has copied my previous pose; intertwining her fingers and resting her elbows on the boardwalk's divider. "You did the same thing when you found me at that stupid bar in Boston."

Emma keeps a far-off look in her eyes. Her smile fades with the memory. "I have no idea what you were thinking or feeling in Boston. I just knew you were an idiot."

"Right…" I reply. I wonder if she's lying or not. "Unlike now."

"Well," Emma turns to me and doesn't speak until I look at her. "You are an idiot if you aren't considering saving King Triton's kingdom from Monstro." She stops speaking and we stare at each other; Emma's eyes scrutinizing my soul. "But you wouldn't be out here, starring at the endless ocean if you weren't."

"Yeah…" I turn from her again. "That thing? It's annoying."

Emma laughs. She puts her arm on my back and leans in to kiss my cheek. "It's called true love, Pinocchio. It's my job to see right through you."

Whispering, I dare to ask her. "So, you did see right through me in Boston?"

Her smile disappears. I feel her grip on me loosen. "Of course I did. I wouldn't be your true love if I couldn't."

"Huh? Really? True love's definition must have changed from when I was a boy."

Her hand moves from my back to my cheek. Her thumb strokes my skin and I close my eyes. "A lot of things have changed from when you were a boy."

I sigh. My eyes open to find Emma peering into my soul again. "Can we just go back to making fun of Disney and this whole fairytale destiny thing like we used to?"

Emma breaks our eye contact to watch her hand on my face. She brings it up to my hair and runs her fingers through it. After a few moments, her intense gaze returns. "Would it help?"

"I don't know." I admit breathlessly. "Maybe."

Our contact stops at my confession. Emma folds her arms and leans on the boardwalk's divider while I turn my back to it.

We stay there for a few minutes. Enjoying our rare moment alone.

"To be totally honest with you," Emma watches the waves below her when she speaks. "I am starting to doubt in the whole fairytale destiny thing."

I am taken aback. My forehead creases. I turn to her. "What? Why? I mean-" The alertness in my voice cause Emma to look at me. "It's been a long time since you doubted anything like that."

"I don't know." The wind pushes her hair forward. She pulls it back. "I don't think you should save King Triton's kingdom from Monstro if you heart isn't in it. Someone else can do it. Just because people say one person is destined to defeat another doesn't mean someone else isn't capable of doing it."

"Did Jiminy tell you I respond to reverse psychology?"

Emma laughs again. "No. He didn't have to." She pauses. A serious look comes over her and I can see her thoughts collecting. "But I'm not trying to use reverse psychology. I'm not trying to encourage you to defeat him. I am trying to say maybe you are so sensitive to being labeled selfish that you are forgetting that sometimes it's okay to be selfish. Sometimes, you need to be selfish in order to survive."

It's my turn to examine her. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying a lot of things have changed from when you were a boy. You don't need life lessons or obstacles to go through in order prove you're brave and unselfish. I see how selfless you are when you're with your daughter everyday. A daughter who, by the way, would never survive if you didn't come back to her."

Both my palms go to her cheeks. "Emma…"

My heart swells when her eyes start to water. "And she has a mother who wouldn't be too happy about it either." A tear threatens to fall. I wipe it away before it can. I rush to give her a kiss. Emma's arms wrap around me. She leans in for another kiss when I pull away. Her kiss is soft. Quick. Her lips brush over mine before she pulls back. "Maybe the selfless action here is to put your family first." Emma takes a step back when I don't respond and starts playing with her sleeve. "Maybe my parents would disagree. We are the Royal Family after all. I'm sure someone out there would say it's our job to protect our kingdom and our allies. But," she looks up at me. "I don't. I've gone too long without a family to put anyone else's safety before them."

"Hey," I place my hand on her cheek to turn her back to me. "Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise."

We hold each other's gaze. I wait for her to say 'Pinocchio can't promise me anything.' But she doesn't. Emma hasn't spoken those words since before we were married. Instead she leans in for another kiss.

Emma takes a deep breath before saying, "Don't do it for me, August. Don't do it for those people and creatures who label you selfish just because they can. The only way you are going to succeed is if your heart leads you. Do it for you, Pinocchio."

I break from her. The vast ocean is in front of me. Memories flood in of the last time I was underneath those waves. Jiminy putting a rock in his trousers to stay with me; The fish swimming away from us when we mentioned Monstro's name; finding Father alone and cold and hungry inside Monstro's belly.

That image of Father sends anger through my veins.

Emma's touch brings me back to the present. "I love you," Emma presses her forehead against mine. "Not because you are unselfish and brave, but despite of those qualities. You have nothing to prove to me."

My eyes still closed, I whisper, "Maybe I have something to prove to me."

I look at her, waiting for her response. She smiles in approval. "Then I'm holding you to your promise to return back to me." She whispers ardently.

"You better." I reach for her. My arms wrap around the small of her back and hers slide around my neck.

Our foreheads come together again. I smile when Emma's voice replays in my head reminding me it's okay to be selfish. Without her words, I wonder if I would admit there's nothing I would rather do than stay in our current position forever.

* * *

A/N: I guess we're going bar hopping in Boston next weekend. Did August ruin the surprise? ;) On a different note: I miss my August/Pinocchio! I'm so glad he's coming back! _(It's about damn time!)_


	27. Had To Pack You Had Cramps

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_One-Fifteen am: Had To Pack. You Had Cramps._

One in the morning is too late for me to socialize in a bar such as this one. I keep trying to be comfortable here, sitting on my stool drinking water, but I know something is wrong. I just have no idea what.

The last drops of water fall out of my glass into my throat. My gaze returns to August before my glass touches the table. I laugh when a notice his arms around yet another woman. I'm pretty sure that's the fifth one tonight. My conscious tells me there's something wrong with his actions. Though, I have no idea why. Any young man has a right to have fun, to explore whatever romantic possibilities present themselves to him.

Right?

I have known August Wayne Booth for a long time, I'm sure. I think. Well, it's funny; I feel a deep connection to the man, but have no clear memories of him other than our trip here to Boston. Maybe that's how deep friendships start. Isn't it said that soul mates – best friends - feel like they knew each other before they met?

All I know is my desire to leave grows deeper with every tick of the lit up clock on the wall. But I can't leave. Something keeps me here. Something glues me to my seat and forces me to watch him parade around women on the dance floor. While the sight isn't preferable, watching August makes me feel good for some reason. I know I'm fulfilling some promise I made to somebody at some point in time.

A woman approaches my table and blocks August from my view. I try to look around her, but it becomes impossible when she pushes herself up onto the stool across from me and demands my attention.

After a week of nights like these, I've learned any young lady demanding my attention in a place like this is up to no good.

I start to leave the table when she says, "Archie."

I make eye contact and recognize her instantly. "Emma?"

"Hi," her grin is empty. "I brought you another drink. Water was it?"

My forehead creases when I take the glass from her. Again, my conscious tells me there's something wrong with our interaction, but something blocks me from knowing what it is.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Emma, hoping she will ease my confusion.

"The same thing you are."

I nod. I'm glad we're on the same page.

Wait. No, we're not. I have no idea what she's talking about. "And…what 'same thing' is that?"

Emma's smile fades. She holds my gaze for a moment before looking over her shoulder. I follow her eyes and see August again. He is kissing a tall redhead. Emma turns back to me. Even though her face is peaceful, I notice pain buried deep behind her eyes. My conscious remembers her expression. Somehow it knows it's important.

"Experiencing life outside of Storybrooke, of course." She raises her drink to mine. We clink glasses before drinking. "So Archie, are you enjoying Boston?"

My eyebrows furrow. I never considered if I enjoyed my time here or not. "I'm – I'm not sure – actually."

Emma nods. "Fair enough." She takes another sip of her drink. After she returns her glass to our table, her gaze drags her head August's direction again.

"Don't look at him." The words come out before I understand why. Emma looks back at me and I start to realize why I said them: the unexplainable pain in her eyes is back again. For some reason an apologetic look comes over my face.

Loud music invades our silent moment. Emma adjusts her position in her chair. Instead of focusing on August, I try to figure out Emma. She is sitting across from me without asking for anything – no favors, no advice.

"Everything okay with Henry?"

Emma's eyes light up when I mention her son. "Everything's great with Henry. Thanks for asking." She pauses and then asks, "Tell me, Archie, what is your return to Storybrooke depending on?"

"What?" I try to process what she's asking and why she's asking it. "I – I haven't given it much thought."

"Okay, well," she leans closer to me on the table. "I'm offering you a free ride back home. What do you say?"

"I can't." I respond automatically. "I can't leave." I say but am not sure why. August's image appears in my head. "I can't leave him."

Emma sighs. She slams her glass on the table. "Of course you can't." I lean in closer to hear what she mummers under her breath. "Why make this easy for me?"

"Sorry?" I ask for clarification.

Her polite, empty smile returns. "Nothing." We share a moment before she picks up her glass again. I notice the difference between her current sip and her previous one. Somehow the stress left her body when she spoke.

Movement behind Emma's shoulder catches my attention. I sigh when August starts coming towards us.

"Well," August speaks before he reaches our table. "It's about time you found a lady friend. It's really nice to meet you." He says with a smile, but when he rounds our table and sees Emma, he freezes.

I look back at Emma and am surprised to find her expression unchanged. "You too." When she's done with her simple response her smile fades.

"Emma…" There's a longing in August's voice I've never heard before. My gaze keeps darting between them. They are frozen in place – like statues – both waiting for someone to bring them to life. "I can't believe you came and found us."

"Finding people is what I do. Tracking down your credit card wasn't hard. In fact I should thank you for making it easy."

August leans closer to Emma. She moves back. "That's not what I meant." The longing in his voice is still there.

"I don't really care what you meant." Despite the bar's sweaty atmosphere, Emma brings in a cold front that gives me chills.

August's expression turns blank. He pushes himself off from the table and away from Emma. "If you don't care, what are you doing here?"

"I'm enjoying life outside of Storybrooke. I can see why you like it here. What with the obnoxious music and the rotten smell, you fit right in."

They return their statues' states for several minutes. It doesn't take long for me to know I am invading on a private moment.

"So…" August breaks their hold on each other. His gaze falls to the table and he flicks a peanut shell to the floor. "When do we have to be back?"

"'We'? We don't have to do anything. I'm here for the cricket." Emma announces. I smile, although I don't know why. "People are demanding his presence back home."

"Right…" August's longing gaze returns. "That's the only reason you're here."

"What other reason could there be, August?" Emma crosses her arms. "Not many people want the selfish, pathetic character brought back. In fact, most people prefer you to stay here to be honest."

August moves closer to her and for once she doesn't move away. Emma freezes in his longing gaze. "I am not talking about most people, Emma."

The gap between them grows smaller and smaller. Emma blinks once. Twice. I am surprised when I realize August is closing his eyes too, extending his neck out for a kiss.

The stool creak is jarring when Emma pushes back to stand. August almost falls over trying to connect with Emma. Only when he sees the pain on her face does the heartbreak he's been hiding for a week cover his own.

"I'm sorry…" August offers.

Emma brings one hand to her shoulder while the other clings to her chest. She shrinks before us. I've never seen her small before. Emma keeps a confident composure around town. To see a different side of her here – broken and quiet – is worse than August's obnoxious behavior I've tried to ignore for a week. Only now do I realize his behavior has to do with his heartbroken expression.

"Yeah…Well…" Her fingers go back and forth across the back of her neck. "I might have lied when I said I was here for the cricket."

A genuine smile, the first I've seen, brightens August's face. "You might have lied?" He asks playfully.

Emma parts her lips to speak, blinks, and then closes them again. She removes her fingers from her neck and lowers them to her other arm.

"Right…" August replies to her movements, though I don't understand them. "I know this is the last place you want to be, so-"

"August." Emma whispers through the bar's loud music. "Here is only place I want to be."

Her whispered words make my heart swell. I turn to August to see her words having twice an effect on him. While I might not understand everything that's going on, the electric pull between the two people in front of me makes me certain they belong together.

August doesn't move. He resists against their electric pull, making sure he keeps a respectable distance between them. His voice is soft and heartfelt when he speaks. "Emma, there's nothing I could ever do to make up for what I did to you. I'll never deserve you."

"No. You won't." Emma agrees with him. "But, just because you are not good enough for me, doesn't mean you can't be good for me. Because, August," A tear slides down her cheek. "You are perfect for me."

"No, I'm not." August reaches out to wipe her tear away, but Emma backs from his touch. "You need someone like your Dad – better than your Dad, and I'm not that guy. I will never be that guy."

"I don't want you to be Charming." Emma tells him breathlessly. "You just need to be the best man you can."

"It's exhausting, Emma." August keeps his emotions in check while he pours his deepest secrets out; secrets that for some reason, I feel like I've known for a long time. He whispers, "Being the best I can be is exhausting. I can't keep doing it. You're the only reason I could do it for as long as I did."

More silent tears pour out of Emma. I notice her reluctance to reach out to him as she does, fighting herself the whole way. When her palm finally settles on his cheek, his own tear breaks free. "Be the best you can be for you, August. You need to find a way to be happy on your own before we can ever be happy together."

"I know." August tears himself from Emma's touch. He continues softly, "And I can't do that, Emma. I can't ever make you happy. I have no idea how to happy myself."

The last tear falls from Emma's face. When it disappears, she puts on a smile. "Okay. Fair enough. I, um," Her voice breaks when tears threaten to fall. "I still need to bring the cricket home and he won't leave without you. So-" She swallows to hold back tears. "So – any suggestions?"

_Bring __the cricket home? He won't leave without you?_

Didn't I just say I couldn't leave August?

I'm confused….

"I'm coming with you," August offers.

Emma's composure changes completely. A shocked expression darkens her face. "What?" She asks him, disgusted.

"Yeah." August starts walking towards the door. An urge comes over me to follow him. He turns back when he notices we're not following him. "You take the cricket in your car and I'll follow you back."

"August-"

"Freely. Completely by choice." He answers her unasked question.

Emma steps closer to him and loses her disgusted expression. "Why would you choose go to back?"

"Because I have a father who I'm pretty sure needs me as much as I need him right now."

A smile breaks on Emma's face. I dismount my chair and walk towards the only people I know in the bar. I am more comfortable closer to them.

"I didn't say anything about your Father." Emma looks at August with awe. He opens the door for us and I follow Emma outside.

The January night air sweeps around us and puts goose bumps in my skin. Silence engulfs us in the empty street. The change to my senses relieves me.

"You didn't need to." August whispers.

Emma's smile widens. She reaches into her back pocket for her keys and turns to me. "What do you say, Archie, are you ready to go home?"

I shrug and realize I'm still a little confused. "As much as I'll ever be."

"Good." Emma says and motions to her car. "August is going to follow us back. You'll be able to see him in my mirror the whole ride back."

August puts his hand on my back. "I'll see you soon, Jiminy, okay?"

I open Emma's car door. "Sure."

Wait…. Jiminy?

As in the Cricket?

* * *

A/N: You read some of Emma's and August's thoughts on this scene last week. So, I thought I'd give or a different POV - or, you know, who wouldn't want to write Archie's oblivious POV? :P.


	28. I Was Late

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Two-Fifteen pm: I Was Late Heading To A Red Carpet_

"Okay, we should stop the boat here," I warn my three boys, my family. "King Triton's kingdom is right beneath us."

Jiminy, still in his bug form, flies closer to me when I walk across the boat deck. We smile at each other for a moment. Then I look down at my human form and a distant, but familiar sadness comes over me.

"Anna!" A wave rocks the boat further, making me lose my balance. "Watch out." I rush to grab on too the railing when Jiminy flies to me and wraps himself around my finger.

Like his bug form could ever save me from falling over.

I sigh when I regain my balance. Jiminy still clings to my finger. I try to ignore his touch and wait for him to fly off; just like he always does. In attempt to focus my mind on something else, I watch Pinocchio help Geppetto lower the anchor.

The last of the chain falls in the water and Pinocchio looks back at me. "Are you sure this the right place?"

"Yes. Of course." The boat rocks again and my arms spread to keep me balanced. "Just because I don't fly around anymore doesn't mean I'm not a fairy."

A frown appears on Pinocchio's face. "Right. Sorry. I guess it is easy to forget sometimes."

I turn from him and nod; hoping the ocean's power will calm me. It does. Only until I hear a clanking behind me.

"Pinocchio!" Jiminy exclaims in his horrified voice. "That's not your bag! You can't go through other people's things – especially a lady's."

I know exactly what Pinocchio is doing before I look of my shoulder. No other person or creature in the land would dare to go through my bag. But Pinocchio? If I treat him like my son, I shouldn't expect him to act like anything else. What son hasn't gone through his mother things without permission at least once?

"Pinocchio," Geppetto chimes in with a warning. "Can you just wait?"

"No," Pinocchio zips open my bag full of magical instruments. "I don't want to be out here a second longer than I have to." He looks up to our skeptical gazes. "Hey, I am not being selfish here, thank you. I have a family that needs me. Plus, the sooner we kill Monstro, the sooner King Triton's kingdom is safe. I am unselfish, brave, and truthful here, so the three of you need to wipe that look off your faces."

My heart goes out to him after his speech. Bravo. It's about time he started sticking up for himself. I'm sure my expression now shows off nothing but pride for my boy.

"Thank you." Pinocchio says with confidence.

"Sorry, my boy" Geppetto starts.

Jiminy and I look at each other. "Sorry," slides off our tongues at the same time.

Pinocchio holds our gazes and crosses his arms. For a second, I wonder if his selfishness has returned and he is looking for more of an apology from us, but his expression comes as quickly as goes. I feel horrible.

"Pinocchio…" I ask for another chance at an apology.

He demises me and returns his attention to my bag. He pulls something out and shows me a bubble mask. "Is this for breathing under water?"

"Yes." I sigh. "But-"

"Great." Pinocchio puts the mask to his mouth and tries to make a seal with his lips. He does it a few times before dropping it into his lap. Even though I should be annoyed at his carelessness, I smile. Remember what I said about sons handling their mother's possessions? "I can be just like Cedric Diggory now."

My forehead creases in confusion. "Who?" I cross my arms despite the boat's shaky deck.

"Harry Potter…" Pinocchio says in an obvious tone. "You know how his friend breathed under water for – You know what, never mind." It's quiet on the boat for a minute. We hear the crash of the waves against the boat's hull. Impatient again, Pinocchio stands and shrugs off his coat. "Jiminy, can you go get Sebastian and tell him we're ready?"

Wait. Now? My pulse quickens when I see Jiminy fly to the edge of the boat and look down at the water. "Wait. We're not ready."

"Not ready?" Jiminy turns back to me. "Anna, we've gone through our plan a thousand times."

Okay…Maybe I'm not ready. That's not a crime, is it?

Still, I say, "I know, but I still think we should go over it one more time."

Jiminy spreads his tiny arms in front of him. "Okay. Fine. Why don't you guys start with Pinocchio? Sebastian and I can catch up for the end."

I step closer to the stern's edge. My fingers lift to Jiminy unconsciously. He hops away from them. I don't know if he moved away from me on purpose or not. Sometimes it feels like he's pulling away from me even more than he already has.

And, seriously, how much more can we grow apart? I'm stayed in my human form and returned to his cricket one.

"Pinocchio?" Jiminy still hops along the stern of the boat. "Do you have that pebble for me?"

"Yeah," Pinocchio pulls out a large pebble from his shirt pocket. "It's right here."

Jiminy takes the pebble from Pinocchio's palm and drops it down his pants. "Thanks. I'll, um." He looks down at the ocean below. "Be right back."

"Okay." Pinocchio says with too casual a tone for my tastes. Jiminy only waves goodbye to him before jumping into the water.

I run to watch him fall, but am too late. By the time I reach the stern's railing, I only see the water's rings growing further and further apart from his splash.

Geppetto places his hand on my shoulder. "Anna…" he whispers. I met his gaze and I'm sure he notices my over-excessive worry even though I try to hide it. "Why don't you just tell him how you feel?"

"Because." I take a seat next to Pinocchio. He is still rummaging through my bag of magical objects. "He made his choice. He chose to come back as a cricket and be there for you guys. How can I ask him to make a different choice now?"

"You didn't discuss it?" Pinocchio stops his rummaging and looks at me. I smile when I notice his concerned expression. "Before we left Storybrooke?"

"No," I run my fingers through my hair, "We didn't."

"Well," Pinocchio charms me with a smile and ignores the underlying point of my confession. "Discussion can be overrated. Just like going over our plan over and over again. No matter how many times we go over it, if one thing happens out of order then all our planning is for nothing. We will have to think on our feet – or fins – or whatever."

Geppetto crosses his arms and examines his son. "Why aren't you taking this more seriously? Do you know what a beast Monstro is? I know you didn't live in him-"

"I am taking this seriously, Father. I have been worrying about it constantly for two days. If I go into this stressed-out then I have more of chance of failing. I don't want that, do you?"

"No…" Geppetto answers his son slowly. "I just think you shouldn't have to do this. Defeating Monstro isn't your responsibility anymore."

"You sound like Emma." Pinocchio retorts. "But Father, as Fairytale law dictates, Monstro will always be my responsibility."

"Well, then," Geppetto motions to me with his arm. "Your surrogate mother is the Blue Fairy. I'm sure she can change the stupid law."

I've never heard Geppetto talk like that before. 'Stupid' is considered crass in his vocabulary.

"Father," Pinocchio reaches for Geppetto. "I'm not going to ask her to change the law. That would be selfish. I am going to deal with Monstro because he is my responsibility. That's the brave choice to make. I want to help King Triton because Ariel is my friend. I want to defeat Monstro because he kept you prisoner. Those are all true statements." I feel Jiminy's presence and my attention focuses on him and Sebastian waiting on the stern's edge. "You can't have it both ways; either you want me to stay selfish forever or you don't."

Sebastian nudges Jiminy's side. "What's an adventure without a little family drama to start it off?"

The creatures look at each other. They both try to suppress a smile. A disapproving look covers my face.

"Oh, don't worry, ma'am." Sebastian tells me. "I'm used to family drama."

I can't help asking, "And that's a good thing?'

"Okay," Pinocchio leads the group. "Do we have everything? One type of bait is in my pocket. I have my magic bubble mask and another pebble for Jiminy. Sebastian knows where to find Monstro and the trap for him is set in Ursela's grotto, right?"

"Yes, sir." Sebastian replies. "Everything's a go and waiting for you."

"One type of bait?" I ask. Pinocchio words run on a loop through my head and I'm still confused. "What do you mean? I thought Sebastian had the krill ready to go."

Sebastian stands on his hind claws, making him an itch taller. "I do, ma'am, but we're not sure what will tempt Monstro. We're prepared to use every means possible to secure him into Ursula's grotto – even live bait if necessary."

"Live bait?" I ask, horrified.

_As in a cricket or a crab?_

My heart thuds in my chest.

"Don't worry, ma'am." Sebastian assures me. "Everything's figured out."

"On that note," Pinocchio rushes through his words. He quickly gives me a kiss on the cheek. "We should probably get going."

On cue, Sebastian solutes to Pinocchio and starts cr awling down the anchor chain.

"No. No." I stop Pinocchio from following Sebastian. What kind of person runs through a goodbye before a daring journey such as this one?

A selfish one.

I reach for Pinocchio's arm. "Wait. Please." I ask, only to realize the selfish person on this boat is me.

Pinocchio turns back and I meet his eyes. I drop his arm. I know he's had the same realization I've had.

Oh, gosh.

A blush creeps into my cheeks. "I'm – I'm so sorry. Excuse me."

Pinocchio just smiles, forgiving and forgetting everything that's just passed between us. "I'll keep him safe, I promise."

My blush deepens when he reads my mind about Jiminy. "And you'll be safe too."

"And me too." His carefree smile returns. Only when he embraces Geppetto do I notice fear deep within his eyes.

Geppetto is too emotional to speak. Instead he holds his son's face between his palms until the tears in his eyes threaten to fall. "I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, yeah." Pinocchio shrugs off his comment. "You know I always hear that at the wrong time." His smile fades with his father's. Pinocchio reaches for Jiminy's second pebble in his pocket and gives it to him.

Jiminy drops it down his pants. "Ready Pinoc?"

"After you, Jiminy."

Jiminy smiles. He waves to Geppetto and I, holding my gaze for a second longer than normal, before disappearing into the ocean again.

Pinocchio winks. "Don't worry, we'll be back sooner than you know it. I promise" He says before putting his mask over his lips and diving beneath the waves.

For several minutes, Geppetto and I watch the calm ocean in silence. He takes a step closer to me and slowly puts one arm around my shoulder. "You know what?"

"What?"

"It's not very often our boy can show us both up."

"No," I met his eyes and laugh. "But, I'm glad he did."

Geppetto smiles. "Me too."

* * *

A/N: Yes, I had Jiminy's and Anna's fate planned since their first date. You know what they say, the best love stories are the tragic ones. You'll definitely hear more from them...Mmmm, I wonder, how about we start with their reaction to August's homecoming...


	29. They Won't Know My Name

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Two-Fifteen Am: They Won't Know My Name_

Chirping crickets overwhelm my senses when I step outside. They are calling for Jiminy; crying in his absence. I lean against my porch railing and close my eyes; allowing myself to be captivated in their call for my best friend.

After some time, I look up to night sky. The stars are different in Storybrooke than home. Watching the sky tonight, I remember the night I wished on the brightest star for my wooden puppet to turn into a real boy. The weight of the memory pulls me down to my porch steps. I feel their wood supporting my weight; it's weak and uncomfortable. I sigh. I turn to the dark road leading to my house. It has been deserted for three hours.

"Staying up won't do you any good," Anna whispers behind me. I don't turn back to her. My attention on the empty road fails me when a mug full of hot chocolate fills my vision. "Drink up. It's the perfect temperature."

I shake my head in disapproval. "Let me get this straight. You are telling me to go to bed while you are offering hot chocolate." I take the mug from Anna's grasp. "How does that make any sense?"

Anna shrugs and sits next to me on the porch steps. "The Blue Fairy offers advice. That doesn't mean you have to take it." I turn to her to show off the confusion on my face. "I know I won't be able to sleep tonight. I made hot chocolate. It would be wrong not to offer you a cup."

"Right." I take a sip only to realize her hot chocolate recipe is amazing. "That's the reason."

"What?" She turns to me and an oblivious smile lights her face. "You think my motives in offering you hot chocolate were selfish?"

"Interesting choice of words," my observation slips out.

"Yeah, well," Anna watches her fingers trace her mug's rim. "Perhaps you're right. I should admit I was hoping my hot chocolate would entice you to stay up with me until Emma's yellow bug appeared."

The guilt on Anna's face makes me smile. "Really? You think your hot chocolate would have any influence over my decision to stay up into the dead of night for my son's homecoming?"

"No, I know you better than that." She whispers. "But it could influence the kind of company you allowed to wait with you."

"I always welcome your company, Anna," I say with sincerity. "Always." I look at her until our eyes meet. I hold her gaze until she nods. "How could you not know that?"

Anna returns her attention to her mug; tracing its rim in endless circles. "I failed, Geppetto."

"What?" I try to make eye contact again, but she refuses. "What are you talking about? You didn't fail. You could never fail. You are the Blue Fairy"

A small laugh escapes her lips. Its sound is full of disbelief and disappointment. Anna gently places her mug on the porch and brushes her hands together. "To everyone else. To your family? I failed you, I failed Pinocchio, and I failed Jiminy. I'm not the Blue Fairy here, I'm just Anna."

Her statement catches me off guard. Never once, in all the years we've known each other, have I seen her confidence shaken. It scares me a little. She's the most grounded person I know. If she begins to doubt herself there is little hope for the rest of us.

"That's not -" I start to reassure her, but two words are all I manage to say. Just then, as my hand lifts to her shoulder, headlights illuminate my porch. We are on our feet and running towards the street, forgetting all about out conversation.

"Archie!" Anna cries. Jiminy looks to her from behind the car window. I notice the confusion on his face and my heart sinks. We were expecting his alter ego, of course, but seeing them together without his memories is worse than I imagined.

Anna pulls open the car door and helps Jiminy out. His expression doesn't change when she pulls him into an embrace.

He doesn't return her affections. "Mother Superior?" Jiminy takes a step back from Anna. Despair covers her face. "What on earth are you doing here so late?"

Emma emerges from her car. The door barely latches when she closes it. "She's here for me, Archie. Don't worry." A warm and reassuring smile warms her face and she walks around her car to shake hands with Anna.

"I can't thank you enough, Emma." Anna's hyperbolic gratitude worries me again. My concern isn't just for her, but now it extends to everyone in Storybrooke. If anyone here, including Regina, needs to keep a level head, it's Anna. It's our Blue Fairy.

Headlights blind us for the second time. My heart stops. Emma's smile fades. I know it is my boy before I see him. Ignoring the aches and pains in my old body, I run to him. His engine turns off and his arms reach for me before his motorcycle headlight burns out.

"Oh, Father," Pinocchio whispers into my shoulder. "I am so sorry."

"I know my boy," A single tear falls from my cheek. "I know you are." My hand lifts to run my fingers through clumps of his matted hair. Only then do I notice the bar smell pressed into his skin. I wonder when he last took a shower. Still, I don't release him. "I'm sorry, too."

Pinocchio releases me then. He pulls back so he can look at me. "For what? You didn't do anything."

I feel a frown forming. My hand moves to his cheek and my thumb starts to stroke it. "For everything."

My son's forehead creases as if he's confused. He can't be. His absence over the last week and his behavior the week before that; gave me time to reflect on my own mistakes as a father. While I won't say his choices were entirely my fault, I do know my actions and my decisions have a bigger affect on his behavior than I ever thought possible.

"You have nothing to-" Pinocchio starts, but I place a finger over his lips to stop him.

"I have something for you." My excitement grows with my announcement. "Will you come in so I can give it to you?"

"I don't want anything." I can hear the sincerity in his voice. It only makes me more excited. "Nor do I deserve anything."

"You don't, that's true." Our eyes lock. I shrug. "But that's what makes it fun." We share one more moment before I break from him. I search for Emma and find her between Anna and Archie. It takes a second for her to notice me. When she does, she excuses herself and we find a space further into my yard.

Emma speaks before I can. "You don't have to say anything. Really. I didn't do it for you. I wasn't expecting or planning on bringing him back. He came back for you."

Her words touch me more than I thought they would. "He came back for both of us, Emma."

"Yeah, well, like I said – I wasn't planning on bringing him back. Although, I did want to tell you." Emma shifts uncomfortably. Her palms slide into her back pockets. "Thank you for telling the Blue Fairy about my cuckoo clock. I managed to fix it."

I can't help smiling. "I knew you would."

Emma's eyes snap to mine. In all our time together, I've never been able to see down to her soul. It is clear Pinocchio is still there. When she notices the intensity of my stare, Emma blinks and backs away.

"Thanks again, Emma." I call after her.

"Goodnight, Geppetto." She says. Turning from me, she bumps into Pinocchio. He puts his arms out to Emma, making sure she doesn't fall. "Oh, sorry."

"No worries." Pinocchio smiles at her. With their arms around each other, they freeze. I know I should turn away and give them a moment alone, but I can't. I notice way Pinocchio looks at Emma. The depth of his stare is hard even for me to turn away from. "I should be more careful."

"No," Emma's whisper is barely audible. "It was my fault."

Pinocchio shakes his head in the darkness. "No – It was -" he starts, but Emma tears herself away from him. "Emma-"

"Goodnight." My porch lights illuminate Emma's face. I can see she's on the brink of crying. She continues to walk further and further away.

"Emma-" Pinocchio calls after her, but she doesn't turn. His head falls in her absence. Her headlights return with the start of her engine. Only then do I notice my two best friends are missing.

"Where are Jiminy and Anna?" I ask my son.

Pinocchio starts making his way across the yard and up the porch steps. "Anna offered to walk Jiminy home. My guess is she'll probably stay with him all night without him knowing it."

I watch my son finish walking up steps and wonder if his sad expression is mirrored on my face. He approaches me and I put one arm around him.

"You know what I was thinking about while you were away?" I whisper.

My son leads me to our front door and opens it for me. "How selfish and immature your son was being?"

A small laugh escapes my lips. "Other than that." I lead my son into the dinning room where his present lays on the table. He doesn't notice it.

"No," he says with a smile. Then he crosses his arms. "What were you thinking?"

I break from him to pick up the leather bound writing journal I made for him. I offer it to him, but he doesn't touch it. It stays in between us. "I was thinking about how you say you're a writer, but I haven't seen you write anything since the curse broke."

His eyebrows furrow. He whispers, "So?"

"So," My smile widens. "Writers need to write. It's who they are. It's who you are. The only way you're going to be happy is if you are writing."

My son stares at me for a long time. I hold his gaze; challenging him. He looks down at the journal then back at me. His forehead creases disappear when he takes the journal.

"Open it." I whisper.

Pinocchio runs his fingers over the leather cover. Before he opens it, he looks at me again. I level him with my eyes.

I watch him slowly open the journal, making sure I don't blink. On the first page, I've written a title for him. He loses some of his composure when he reads it out loud.

"Two Households Of Dignity," Pinocchio's voice breaks. "What does that have to do with anything?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I just thought it was catchy." I walk pass him towards the stairs. A yawn takes my breath when I reach the first step. All I can think about is going to sleep. "You're the writer. You figure it out."

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I was planning on that since the first Vignette :). Does this make up for all my evilness? For readers who have no idea what I or Geppetto are talking about, I suggest looking under 'my stories' on my profile page.


	30. Riding In Silence

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Three-Fifteen pm: Riding In Silence_

The Anchor's chain leads me two hundred feet from Geppetto's boat. Once on the seafloor, I turn back to check on my companions. Jiminy has trouble catching up with his Pinocchio, who is already a hundred feet ahead of him. Instead of waiting for them to swim to me, I look back at my Kingdom. Despite threatened by danger; it still shines in exactly the same way it did before. The only difference is it looks deserted. Every sea creature hides in his or her own spots, trying to stay safe from Monstro's looming figure above. I look up to admire my palace's structure when his shadow absorbs my Kingdom's glow as he drifts above it. Turning my Kingdom into shadows is a power only ships possess. Even then, the ships only pass over the kingdom. Their shadows aren't ever there long enough for us to feel threatened.

Pinocchio swims past me like he knows where he is going. The truth is, he has no idea. His assertiveness reminds me of Ariel and warmth flows through me at the memory. It is quickly replaced by annoyance and dread. I did not sign up for babysitting duty. I already passed that test. Jiminy stops when he catches up to me. We turn towards each other and try to communicate in silence. I raise my right claw and point in the opposite direction to where Pinocchio is swimming. Jiminy shakes his head in disapproval and leaps off a rock in the sand to propel him in Pinocchio's direction with some hope of speed. Since it took a while for them to catch up with me the first time, I thought I would have to wait a long time for their return. They back within moments, though. Pinocchio, with his magic air bubble retreating in and out in time with his breathing, floats above me alongside Jiminy and waits for my instruction.

Again, I point to my right. I expect Pinocchio to swim in my finger's direction. He doesn't. Instead, he waits for me to lead him. It's nice. Respectful even. With a satisfactory leap, I push myself off the seafloor and start swimming towards Ursula's Grotto. Pinocchio makes sure he swims at my speed, and not faster, to communicate he knows I'm in charge. I make eye contact with Jiminy and I wonder if he said something to his boy while leading him back to me. I'm sure Jiminy is reading my thoughts when he smiles. Under the sea is the only chance Jiminy has to talk to Pinocchio without a comeback; I'd take advantage of the chance if I could, too.

My problem was Ariel was still a mermaid at the time I was assigned to look after her. Mermaids, not humans, will always have the ability to speak out flippant comebacks whenever they are on an undersea adventure.

Our plan is to set up a trap for Monstro inside of Ursula's abandoned Grotto. We hope to use a metal ring, like the one Ariel used to escape her shark. Pinocchio can lead Monstro to her Grotto and then trap him within. It's a full-proof plan. Suddenly I halt. Monstro's shadow covers the Kingdom again. I should have set up our trap before Jiminy and Pinocchio followed me under the sea. I turn back and am met with Pinocchio's terrified expression. My eyes follow his and I see Monstro's attention honed in on Pinocchio. I guess Monstro's focus answers our question: we weren't sure if he would recognize Pinocchio from when he was a wooden boy. Time stops when hero and villain connect with each other. Pinocchio floats towards Jiminy unconsciously and I don't blame him. I hope if ever Ariel and I found ourselves in a life and death situation, she would trust I would be there to protect her.

Pinocchio's closeness with Jiminy doesn't last long. I feel his adrenaline kick in when the whale starts at us. He spins around to face me, pushing the water around him in hopes to quicken his turn. Our contact is brief; just enough time for him to double-check on Ursula's Grotto's direction. I lift my claw to point to the right and he is swimming away before I raise it fully. Monstro chases after Pinocchio at full speed. I know Pinocchio can't swim fast enough. For the first time, even while planning out our adventure, I lose my confidence for a happy ending. Leading Monstro into the Grotto, either by an unrecognizable Pinocchio or a memorable Jiminy Cricket, is one thing. Monstro chasing Pinocchio at full speed is another. Jiminy seems like he has already lost his mind when I remember to check back with him. He pulls out his umbrella and points at the whale swimming away.

A spell flies from his umbrella's tip. Spells were not part of our plan. In fact, I don't remember anyone mentioning Jiminy's umbrella had any powers at all. The detail would have been nice to know. The spell misses Monstro's tale by an inch. Jiminy pushes off from a rock again and swims faster than I thought possible for a cricket. I can't keep up with my companions, my partners, on our mission.

By the time I reach them, Pinocchio has succeeded in leading Monstro down to Ursula's Grotto. I don't know how he did it. Adrenaline must have its own magic in humans that I will never understand. I make sure to push a boulder over the opening when I enter the Grotto; reducing the number of exits to one. Stress is far from over, though. Monstros's jabs keep coming at Pinocchio. He ducks each one and the jabs turn weaker and weaker. Pinocchio seems to have forgotten our plan. With his life in the balance, I don't blame him. Since I am the only part of our team with a level head, I push through the water to the metal hoop in the sand. When Jiminy realizes my intensions, he swims down to help me lift it. Two small creatures aren't strong enough to move a manmade object far and it takes Jiminy calling out Pinocchio's name for him to notice us.

Grabbing the hoop, Pinocchio swims up to face Monstro. The whale manages to dodge the hoop several times before his capturer can secure it around him. Relief washes over Pinocchio's face as he turns back to us. We smile at him and Jiminy whistles in cheer. After a moment of celebration, I lead Jiminy towards the grotto's back exit. A scream vibrates through the water and we turn at the noise.

Somehow, Monstro found one last lunge in him before falling unconscious. Pinocchio's blood melds with the seawater before I figure out what happened.

A piece of wood sinks towards me and I follow its path backwards. In front of me is a man without a nose. A man whose nose is the least of his problems considering the same lunge that knocked out his infamous nose also broke the magic seal keeping his breathing bubble secure.


	31. All That We Want To Say

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Six-Fifteen Am: All That We Want To Say_

Running feels good after six hours of trying to fall asleep. Music thuds through my ears and propels my feet to move faster. I know it's too loud, but I don't care. It's comforting. In fact after my fight with Neal last night, my maxed out volume seems like the only thing keeping me sane right now.

How can Neal not understand?

There is no going back. Everything possible that could be different about our relationship is different. Not one element about us is the same. Yes, we tried to figure out if we could be good together. Yes, we were together for a couple weeks. The problem was I always felt like we were trying too hard. I spent more time trying to figure out our relationship than actually having a one with him.

My body screams in pain from the exercise, but I push it forward. Up until I broke the curse, I hated to run. Now? Running is the only time I can think. Really. Think. I have decided that I shouldn't be in any relationship. I don't need that kind of happy ending. My whole life all I've wanted was a family. Now that I found my parents, I think I should focus on building a better relationship with them rather than romantic relationship with someone else.

I run past Storybrooke's marina and see Fishermen coming in from their morning's work. For a moment I wonder what fairytale they belong to, but then remind myself I don't want to know. It's hard enough keeping the townspeople straight in my head. The road curves along the waterway and soon the marina's boats disappear and are replaced by a thin jetty that runs out along the waves.

I make it halfway down the jetty before abruptly stopping.

There he is in front of me. I wonder if my unconscious brought me to him. Everything else disappears and all I see is August. His pants are rolled up as he sits on the rocks; letting the cold water soak his feet. I squint and I notice he is writing in a leather-bound notebook. I've never seen him write before. When I pictured him writing I always imagined him with a typewriter. I guess that makes sense, since he made such a big deal about it when he first came to town. His notebook is better. It's more fairy-tale like and less modern.

Almost like he's accepting more of himself by using a pen rather than a keyboard.

My feet start walking forward and I know there's nothing I can do to turn them around. I turn off my music to hear the waves; Boom. Boom. Crash. They pound against the jetty. August does not notice me when I approach him. In fact, I stand right behind him and he doesn't flinch. At first I'm disappointed he doesn't acknowledge me, but then I like it. There's something poetic about it, perfect in its own kind of way.

I find a rock to sit on a casual distance away from August. Only when I settle down does he notice me. I look back at him, intending to smile, but can't. The awed look on his face takes my breath away. It times like these that remind me we don't know each other at all. Yet, we know each other better than anyone.

Because somehow, I realize, he was expecting me.

Choosing to ignore the meanings behind our expressions, I turn from him to the ocean. Its vastness doesn't hold my attention like it usually does and soon I am turning back to him, only to see he has resumed his writing.

"I've never seen you write." I whisper over the waves.

August blinks several times before closing his notebook. "I haven't written since before the curse broke actually." He whispers back.

I wonder why. I want to ask him, but it feels wrong somehow. My pry would either be too personal or too inappropriate for our current relationship status.

"Well," I say instead. "I'm glad you started to write again."

Softly, he asks, "Why?" His innocent tone tugs at my heart.

"Because." I announce. He looks at me and I realize I can't make eye contact with him. "I want you to be happy. The only way you're going to be happy is if you're doing something you love."

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice August has turned his attention to the endless ocean. He still whispers when he speaks, "My father said something like that the other day."

I nod. "Smart man, your father."

August snaps his attention to me at my words. He tries to hold my gaze and I feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Why are you saying these things, Emma?" Even though his words are more direct, August keeps his soft tone. "Saying you want me to be happy and complimenting my Father?"

Finally, I am able to look at him. "I'm saying them because they're true." August's eyes widen and then retract. His forehead creases at me and then he turns away. His lips part lips to speak, but he closes them before he can. I want to know what he was going to say, but I hold back my question too, knowing it's not my place to ask anymore. Whispering, I confess, "Just because we can't be together right now doesn't mean I don't love you."

Really? I haven't even comes to terms about my own feelings yet. But here I am, stupid as ever; spilling my heart out before I'm ready.

August's shock is evident when he looks at me again. I wonder if he sees the regret on face when he says, "You don't love me, Emma." A sad smile appears. "You love who I was trying to be."

I feel tears forming, but hold them back. "No," My volume rises to its normal level and strength that I didn't know I had booms through. "I love you because I understand you. I know you better than anyone, Pinocchio. I know you better than Jiminy and better than yourself. I know when you are acting and when you are not. I know how hard it is for you to keep up with the best version of yourself. You don't need to be exhausted all the time, August. You're a good man and I accept every side of who you are."

August shakes his head like I'm crazy. "Emma…"

"You are not the villain. You are the hero of your story. You need to start treating yourself like one."

"I could never do that." August confesses.

His vulnerability starts to break my heart again. My voice cracks when I ask, "Why not?"

"Because…" He holds my gaze long enough for his own tears to form before ripping himself away from me. "I could never be the hero of your story."

Finally, I surrender to my suppressed tears and let them fall down my cheeks. "But August," I ignore the feeling in my gut warning me against reaching for him and do anyway. I place a palm on each of his cheeks and turn him towards me. I look deeply into his eyes to say, "You are."

August doesn't respond to my comment. I have a feeling he never will. It doesn't matter. Everything he wants to say is in his longing expression. He hasn't looked at me like that since we broke up in the barn all those months ago. Not only do his eyes tell me he wants to believe me, but their softness reveals the one secret he's been trying to hide:

That he still loves me too.

* * *

A/N: Last Anna chapter up next!


	32. Bout To Board When You Call

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Six-Fifteen pm: 'Bout To Board When You Call (On The Phone)_

Caw-Caw. Noise enters my room. Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"You are squirming, Anna." Mom says. Her arms are tight around me. We are touching. "Do you want to run?"

Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"Can you answer me sweetie?" Mom says. She looks at me. I look at the window. The noise is from the window. The window is bad. "Can Mommy hold you or do you need to run?"

Run.

I move to the floor. I run.

"Anna," Mom moves close to me. "Will you talk to Mommy? Say 'I need to run.'"

Caw-Caw. It is loud. I run more.

"Okay, sweetie. You go ahead and release all your energy. I'm going to watch you from your rocking chair, okay?"

The window is bad. No running to the window. I always run to the window. I run to my bed.

Caw-Caw. It is loud. Blanket is on my bed. I remember someone put blanket around me. It was good. I stop. I put blanket around me.

I see pink. Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"Are you hiding?" Mom says. She picks me up. We are touching. "Do you remember when Dad wrapped you up in here? You couldn't stop laughing."

Caw-Caw. It is loud. I see pink.

"The problem is, I can't see your beautiful face when you are hidden under the blanket." Mom tugs on the blanket. I pull it back. "Can I see your beautiful face, Anna?"

Mom pulls the blanket back. She looks at me. It is bad. "Caw-Caw!" I say.

"Caw-Caw?" Mom says. "Is that the noise seagulls make?"

"Caw-Caw!" I say. I push out of her arms. Blanket is around me. I sit on the floor.

"Caw-Caw?" Mom says. She rubs my back. "That's the only sound you have made all day."

I see pink. Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"Do you remember the seagull's noise from ocean? Are you thinking of daddy?" Mom says. No noise now. Noise is bad. "I'm thinking of daddy too, Anna."

Caw-Caw. It is loud.

I run from Mom. The blanket is on the floor. Blanket does not belong on the floor. Blanket belongs on the bed.

I put blanket on the bed. Caw-Caw. It is loud. I run away.

"Anna." Mom moves in front of me. "Daddy is going to be back soon. I promise. Bug will be back too."

Mom holds me tight. I watch the carpet.

"Aren't you going to say 'Bug,' Anna? You always say 'Bug' after I say it." Mom says.

Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"Say 'Bug,' Anna." Mom says.

There is water on Mom's face. Water is bad. I run away.

Someone is in the doorway. I look up. Gramps is here. He is tall.

"Hi Anna." He lifts me up. He kisses my hair. "How are you doing?"

"Caw-Caw!" I say.

"Yeah?" He looks at me. I look away. "Do hear Scuttle outside? You have sensitive hearing. It's pretty quiet in here."

Grandma is in the doorway. "Hi Anna." She says. "Oh, Emma." She hugs Mom. "It'll be okay."

No noise now. Noise is bad.

"Is Scuttle outside, Dad?" Mom says.

"I don't know. I was outside an hour ago and I heard him. I didn't see him, though." Gramps says.

"Are you sure it was him?" Mom says.

"I'm not positive, Emma, but he has a pretty distinctive sound." Gramps says.

Caw-Caw. It is loud. I push from Gramps.

"It's okay, Anna." Gramps says. His hand is in my hair. "Your dad will be back soon."

I push from Gramps. I kick his side.

"Anna!" Mom says.

"Okay, sweetie. I'm putting you down." Gramps says. My feet touch the carpet. I run away. "She'll be okay, Emma."

"She just kicked you." Mom says.

"Emma," Grandma says. "August's absence is hardest on her. You knew it was going to be. Give her a little bit of a break."

"I did give her a break. She threw a tantrum this morning with Doc. We never finished her therapy. I ended up cleaning up her puzzle for her. Usually Anna can complete that puzzle in fifteen minutes."

"It's okay, Emma." Gramps says.

"She hasn't spoken to me all day." Mom says. She is loud. I take blanket from the bed. I see pink. "It's like she's mad at me or something."

"Emma," Grandma says. "Don't go there. It's not about you. Anna hasn't spoken to anyone today. Let her be scared in her own way."

Caw-Caw. It is loud. I see pink.

"Anna has August's eyes." Mom says. "His beautiful blue eyes. They are so perfect I have no trouble believing Geppetto painted them with magical paints. Now," Mom touches her nose. "Anna won't even look at me."

"Okay," Grandma says. "But how much did she before? You know making eye contact is hard for her."

"You're not helping," Mom says.

"Emma," Gramps says. There is no noise now. Noise is bad. "Why don't I take you down to see Scuttle. Your mom can put Anna to bed."

"No." Mom says.

"Honey," Gramps says. "We're trying to help you."

Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"I can't leave her," Mom says. "She's the only part of August I have."

"August will be back, Emma." Grandma says.

"Then why is Scuttle cawing?" Mom says.

"That's how seagulls communicate. It's not like he's crying or anything." Gramps says.

"Sure sounds like it from the way Anna is mimicking him." Mom says.

I lie on the floor. Blanket falls off. "Caw-Caw!" I say.

"See, she's smiling, Emma." Grandma says. "Everything's okay."

There is a pattern on the ceiling. It is stars.

"I'll tell you what, Emma." Gramps touches Mom. "I'll go talk to Scuttle. I'll see if he has any news. Okay?" Gramps kisses Emma's hair just like mine.

Gramps leaves through the doorway.

"Anna," Grandma kneels down. She looks at me. I look away. "I want to read you a story. Do you want to hear a story?"

"Story." I say.

Caw-Caw. It is loud.

"Yeah, let Grandma read you a story, Anna. Do you want to stay on the floor or climb up in your bed?" Grandma says.

I climb up in bed. I bring blanket with me. Grandma touches me. I look out the window.

"Emma, are you going to join us?" Grandma says.

"Yes." I feel someone close to my feet. "I'm ready." Mom says.

"Okay," Grandma is quiet. There are stars on the ceiling. There are stars out the window. They are different. "Once upon a time…"

Caw-Caw. Noise comes into my room.

Noise is bad. I turn to Grandma in my bed. I put blanket around me.

I see black. Bedtime is good.

* * *

A/N: Wow, you guys, your comments on last chapter were amazing. Thank you! August and Emma's longing will only grow as they find their way back to each other..._  
_

Reviewer Anna: You caught Pinocchio's 'Why' reference from the movie! I heart you.


	33. You Say I'm Sorry I'll Be Waiting

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eleven-Fifteen am: You Say 'I'm Sorry, I'll Be Waiting At Home'_

Father's workshop is a mess. I am overwhelmed by it just by standing in its doorway. Pieces of lumber are scattered everywhere; from the large ones leaning against the walls to the tiny wood chips on the floor that were never picked up. My face falls in my hands. I know Father's mess is the mess I made.

"Pinocchio," I hear Jiminy's voice from behind me. Its sound makes me feel worse and guilt rushes over me. I am forced to turn to him when he softly places a hand on my back. He smiles at me.

Smiles at me?

After everything I did to him, his forgiveness makes me sick. Worse, I don't understand it. How can it be so easy to forgive me for taking him out of Storybrooke and erasing his memory, but he still has trouble forgiving me for going back on a promise I made twenty-nine years ago? Okay, I realize the difference between the two events is vast, but still.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay here all day?" Jiminy asks. "We're going to be out on the water, so you won't be able to reach us."

"Yeah, I'm sure." I manage to look at him. "Don't worry about me. I want you guys to have a good time sailing."

Jiminy holds on to his soft composure. "Pinocchio, the three of us will always worry about you. That's what parents do."

I know I accepted Jiminy as one of my parents long ago, but the idea of having three parents is still hard to adjust to, especially when I had none for most of my life.

"Well, I guess I'm one lucky guy then." I whisper.

He tries to maintain his affable attitude, but a smirk pulls on his lips. Jiminy removes his hand from my back and gives me a shove. "So, are you still trying to suck up or that your guilt talking?"

"Neither." I tell him honestly.

"Right." He rolls his eyes. I wonder if I should take offence at his behavior. "Well just know I still see through you. Cleaning your father's workshop to ease your guilt is still considered selfish."

"Uh-huh." I have no other choice but to agree with him. "And tell me, are you words of wisdom coming from a friend or a former conscious?"

"Whichever one you want." After adjusting his sailing bag, Jiminy slaps my shoulder again. "Good luck today."

"You too." I tell him. We hold each other's attention for one more moment and Jiminy's genuine smile returns. A smile I don't deserve. Then he turns from me and begins to exit the workshop. "Hey!" I call after him. "Watch out for those whales!"

Even though he doesn't look back to me, I know Jiminy is smiling. When he raises his palm in reply, I can't help smiling in return.

It fades when I return my attention to the mess before me. I don't know where to begin. I can't clean the floor because larger slabs of wood dominate its surface. I can't move the slabs because other objects will wiggle loose and fall the second they change positions. So, I'd like to make it clear that I'm screwed.

What else is new?

Okay, I remind myself, the only way to start on a project is working through it one piece at a time. My gaze falls on some tools scattered on one father's worktables. I map out a route through the workshop's covered floor before I trudge through its mess. Sorting out the tools and nails from the rest of the junk on the table is easier than I thought. I just need father's toolbox in order to return the tools to their proper place. The problem arises when it is nowhere to be found.

Damnit.

"August," I bang my head on a metal shelf when someone calls my name. It takes a second or two to regain my composure before I can greet my visitor.

"Leroy," I greet Grumpy. "What can I do for you?"

"I – um," He tries to walk further into the workshop but every path he tries seems blocked. I find a way to him before he can take a step. He looks and me and I know he's here for a personal reason rather than business one. I try to recall what personal business we have together, but my mind seems to have blocked it out. "I have your ring for you."

He takes a ring box from his pocket and offers it to me. My heart stops.

"I know you're not engaged anymore," Grumpy responds to my physical reaction. "But I wanted to give it to you anyway." I don't take the box. I can't touch it. Once Grumpy realizes my hesitation, he finds the only clean spot on a bed stand and sets it down. "I think you're going to want it someday."

"I can't," are the only words I manage to say.

"Yeah," Grumpy sighs. "I thought you would say that." He puts his hands in his pocket. We stand in silence for a while and I wonder what he's still doing here. "Here's the thing, I know what's it is like to feel like you don't deserve someone and I know how much you'll regret it if you don't fight for her when you had the chance."

Blood rushes through my veins at his insinuation. I want to yell at him but I don't. Somehow, I manage to restrain my voice when I say, "I had my chance. It is gone, Leroy. I lost her. There's no relationship to fight for anymore."

"Relationships disappear when people lose their memories for twenty-eight years. You can accept a relationship is over when both parties are from two different worlds and there's no chance of ever being together-"

"Like you and Nova?" I can't help asking.

He ignores me. "What you can't do is give up when she's out there," Grumpy points outside, "Waiting for you-"

I laugh off his comment. "Emma is not waiting for me."

"Emma." He takes a step closer. "Is. Waiting. For. You." Grumpy holds our connection and waits for me to respond. I don't. Instead I crouch down and search for father's toolbox. "You have no idea how lucky you are." I ignore his words and continue crawling around the workshop; banging my knees on random items. "All you have to do is go win her back."

The toolbox is straight ahead. I crawl to it and when I lift my head I bang it on another shelf. I let out a cry of pain. Grumpy is unamused when I look back at him. "All I have to do is clean up my father's workshop." I place the toolbox on father's worktable and begin sorting his tools.

"August." Grumpy almost chops off my fingers when he slams the toolbox closed. "Are you still in love with Emma?"

The shock hasn't worn off from his audacious action and I' m glad. It can substitute for my true feelings about his question. A question I refuse to answer.

That is, until I see the threat on his face at my silence. I concede and nod my head.

"Do you still want to marry her?"

What's the point in denying it? I nod again slowly.

"Then why won't you fight for her?"

"Why are you advocating for fighting for love?" A thought comes to me and I wonder if I should throw it in his face. I know I shouldn't but then I remember Grumpy's blunt remarks. "Didn't you just steal fairy dust for Nova? Yeah, I think your effort blew up in your face."

A flicker of anguishhardens Grumpy's expression. "I wasn't fighting for her. I was trying to help her gain her footing at work. The other fairies, especially yours, have been holding her back because of our previous relationship. I was trying to make up for that. Giving her dust so she could catch up with her peers did not blow up in my face." He pauses for meaning. "I don't regret it-"

"Even though Doc paid your price for you?" I retort quickly.

"Doc-" Grumpy raises his voice as he turns more defensive. "Offered to take my place in jail. I did not ask him to."

I cross my arms. "Right."

"And who are you to lecture me about taking advantage of loyalty? Didn't you just use your best friend's loyalty against him?" He challenges me. Except for closing my eyes in shame, I have no response. "That's not the point," Grumpy lowers his voice. "My point is I'd do it again even though we can't be together."

_Just because we can't be together right now doesn't mean I don't love you. _

Emma's words from the other morning ring through my head.

"So," I start slowly. "You are telling me I should steal fairy dust for Emma."

Grumpy finally smiles. He looks a bit odd with a friendly expression on his face. "I think telling Pinocchio to steal anything is a bad advice. I'd start with the ring." He nods to the bed stand. "See where that leads you."

I repeat, "I can't," and hope he understands the depth of my despair.

Grumpy nods in understanding. It's sad somehow. "The fear on your face is giving me an different answer."

"Really?" I challenge him. "Is it that I'm a coward?"

"No," Grumpy taps the bed stand before taking a step back. "It tells me Emma is the only person you're afraid of losing." He leaves me speechless and by his smirk, I realize that was his intention all along. "Good luck with the cleaning." He says in goodbye.

Once alone, my gaze falls to the ring box. Its presence is mocking me. Isn't giving into temptation something that I, of all people, am supposed to avoid? Still, the box calls to me and I am opening it before I can stop myself.

All I see is Emma; beautiful, perfect, magical Emma. Immediately I close the box, but she's still there. In fact, I imagine her reaction to the ring so many times that I realize why giving into temptation was such a bad idea in the first place:

The ring's magic possesses me. I am never going to be able to stop thinking about the ring until I propose to Emma and her reaction becomes real.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so the ONCE writers clearly don't understand the potential of Pinocchio. Sucks for them. More for me. :)


	34. Feels Like We're Burning This Out

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Ten-Fifteen pm: Feels Like We're Burning This Out (On Our Own)_

"Scuttle!" I pull my dress above my ankles. "I can't run as fast as you can fly!"

The seagull turns back to me. He flaps his wings in place, waitin. "Hurry up Princess Emma. Your husband is waiting for you."

I know! August is home, finally.

Now that my feet have more freedom, I rush down the rocks separating our kingdom from its marina faster. Rushing is always a mistake. My toes catch in-between two rocks causing me to fall over onto a bigger boulder.

"Princess!" Scuttle nags.

Ignoring the pain in my foot, I push off the rock to gather speed. I am determined the outrun that bird; if not for August's safety than for the inner satisfaction that outrunning a nagging seagull brings.

Soon, just as I predicted, Scuttle is calling after me. "Hey! Wait up!" He caws. "You're bleeding!"

I don't care. August is more important than my stupid foot. The moon's glow guides me the rest of the way to the marina. I can make out Geppetto's yelling as I turn the corner and run onto the wooden docks.

"You turned his face to wood!" His panic translates to anger. "What were you thinking, Anna?"

"I was focusing on him not bleeding to death!" The Blue Fairy tries to keep her voice level, but her motherly urges to yell back at Geppetto seep through. "And it's not his whole face, just the center of it."

"That's the most important part!" Geppetto retorts.

Jiminy, ever the peacekeeper, flies between them. "Now is not the time to argue."

I try to process their information, but I can't. Sprinting down to them takes all of my focus. By the time I reach them I am out of breath. My chest pounds in and out. All I can think about is August.

"Where is he?" I demand through my raspy voice.

August's whisper is so faint I barely make out his call for me. "Emma…"

Geppetto and Anna move apart and reveal August lying on the wooden boards of the docks. The sight of him paralyzes me. I've never seen him like this; blood covers his drenched clothes, seaweed is caught between his fingers and latched to his hair. The life in him fades with every passing moment and I can no longer find the fight in him.

I don't even notice, nor care, about the wood taking over his airways.

Only when I realize he can't fight anymore do I break through my paralysis. The desire to fight for his life is there, his ability is gone. Though it feels like slow motion, I know I drop to him quickly. I pull him in my lap and let his blood bleed into the dress my mother made me.

August reaches for me and tries to turn his head to mine. I move reposition of us so we can look into each other's eyes. August clings to me further. His fingers encircle my wrist and his other arm reaches up to touch my face. My tears start falling when he can't extend his arm all the way to my face.

I grab his hand and pull it to my cheek. I hold it there. His thumb moves across my skin and wipes away a newly fallen tear. "You are going to be okay. I promise you."

As if he doesn't hear me, August whispers, "I defeated Monstro. I did it."

I guess I should be happy at his announcement, but his words cause more teardrops to fall. I run my fingers through his hair. "August…"

"It's Pinocchio." He struggles to talk and I can't believe he's wasting his breath correcting me on his name. "Pinocchio defeated Monstro. He is…" August's voice fades and he begs me to fill in the blanks."

"He is officially considered one of the heroes of Fairytale Land." I can't help rolling my eyes. "Yeah, does bragging qualify as being selfish?"

August runs his fingers over my cheek and down my neck to rest on my shoulder. He still struggles to speak, "I made you smile."

My cries tear me apart. I try to speak, but I can't. I try to hold on tighter to my husband, but I don't know if he feels it since my grip is so weak. I lower my forehead to his and my tears fall onto his cheeks instead of mine. "I love you."

"Kiss me," August demands faintly.

I let the last tear fall before leaning into him. I taste his wooden lips against mine. There's something seductive about them. Even though they are wooden, they taste juicy somehow and fill my mouth with flavor.

Then, without warning, his lips start moving against mine. In the next moment I feel his tongue in my mouth. I pull back.

There is no trace of wood left on his face. August breaks into a wide smile when he notices my shock.

Though I smile back at him, another batch of tears start to fall. "You're making fun of me."

With his energy restored from true love's kiss, August sits himself up. He tangles his fingers in my hair. "You forgot who you were, Princess. Your kiss was all it took." His voice lowers on purpose. "It's all it ever took."

I kiss him again briefly and then run my fingers over his face. The softness of his new skin reminds me of Anna's right after she was born. "And you no longer have a nose, Pinocchio."

August sits up straighter and his confidence emerges. "'Bout damn time." He states. "Do you know how much trouble that thing gave me?"

I laugh and find my strength to grip him tighter. "About as much trouble as it's going to give you when people see you don't have one at all."

"No." August leans closer to me and shakes his head. "The jokes are nothing compared to a nose that literary grew every time I fabricated the truth."

"When you lied." I nudge him. "It's okay. You can say it."

August laughs with me, but soon pushes himself out my arms. I already feel empty without him. "Hey!"

He looks back at me as he wraps his arms around his father. "You're not the only one important to me, you know."

I can't help being annoyed. Worse, being jealous. August breaks from Geppetto to give his Blue Fairy a kiss.

"August!" I cross my arms. I remind myself of an overbearing housewife, but right now, I don't care. He turns to me when he registers my tone. "Anna!"

His daughter's name snaps him back to reality. Blood drains from his restored face and he looks up at our castle. August runs from everything for home. He passes me and takes my hand, but can't find time to look at me.

"Okay!" I limp behind him. "Your wife can't run! She hurt her foot while Scuttle dragged her out here. You need to wait!"

August groans, "Tonight was not the night for keeping all our body parts intact, I see. Alright." He surprises me by lifting me into his arms. I smile - satisfied. His arms around me are all I need. "Let's go, Princess."

"Anything for the Kingdom's newest hero."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for waiting! Three more chapters to go!


	35. Our Way Down A Road We Don't Know

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Three-Fifteen am: Trying To Find A Way Down A Road We Don't Know_

Cell phone buzzing jolts me awake. I try to grab it before the obnoxious noise wakes Henry in the bed next to me. As my finger stretches to turn off the power, I barely register the text message lighting up my screen:

STORYBROOKE POLICE DEPARTMENT:

EMERGENCY AT GRANNY'S DINER

Groaning, I drop the phone to the floor and pull the covers over my head. Never during my time in Storybrooke has any crazy fairytale creature disrupted the early morning eeriness. I flip over. What is the likelihood David was sent the same message? He is my deputy after all. Plus, last time I checked the man owed me a few favors.

I pull my legs tighter to my chest. I hope the diner isn't on fire or anything, because my willfulness to follow police protocol in the middle of the night is keeping me under the covers.

It buzzes again.

Damnit.

Throwing the covers off, my feet slide into rain boots propped against the foot of the bed. I reach for my raincoat that I dropped on the floor four hours ago. The walkie-talkie is still in one of its larger pockets, so I don't bother finding the cell phone I dropped in the pile of dirty clothes. After pulling the coat over my shoulders, I tiptoe to Henry's sleeping figure and give him a kiss on his forehead and slide out of our room.

Just as I predicted, Storybrooke's streets are barren. Rain pounds the cement, determined to break through it somehow. I drive past Mr. Gold's shop. He might be the only soul around I wouldn't be surprised to find awake, but there is no sign of him either. Starring at his illuminated shop's sign, I almost crash into Granny's fence. Somehow I'm not surprised to when he yells to stop me.

"Watch it!" August appears out of nowhere.

Breaks slam and disrupt the rain's evenly spaced patter. Wheels skew directions and headlights bang the fence. Their touch wiggles its posts. We both freeze and wait for the fence to fall. It sways back and forth. Once, twice, before settling down into its dirt grooves again.

Releasing the breath I was holding, I take my frustrations out on my keys. I turn them harder than necessary to kill the engine. Rain patters return. My gaze rises from the dashboard to August through the glass. He is soaking.

Anger, rather than concern, kicks the car door open. I am drenched before I slam it closed. "Keep your eyes open!"

"I should give you the same advice." He pushes himself up on the hood of my car like it was a warm summer's day instead of a rainy spring night. His hair sticks to his skin and I am suddenly reminded of carved hair like my cheap plastic doll had when I was a girl. I squint. No not a doll. The image of him now: propped up against my car with his hair glued to his head and his limps casually drooped around him, is the only time his human form has reminded me of a puppet.

"What are you doing here?" The rain takes away the harshness in my voice.

August crosses his arms and repositions himself on my hood. His legs spread out in front of him. There is a certain quality to his posture that makes me suspicious. It is too casual for three in the morning. Keeping his boyish attitude, he runs his fingers through his hair and asks. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"Other than turning insane," I walk backwards towards the diner so I can keep my gaze on him. "I have no idea."

He smiles and leaps off the hood. "Oh, come on!" His arms fly across his chest before he runs to catch up with me. "You must know why I'm here."

"I have no idea why you're here." I reach Granny's overhang and revel that I don't have cold rain falling over me anymore. August leaps up the small steps and stops moving when we're inches apart. A small gasp parts my lips when our noses touch. His open mouth hovers over mine. Our eyes connect before I roll my head around his and look down his body. He is only wearing a t-shirt and jeans. The water has soaked his clothing and it clings to his skin, making all his muscles more visible than they usually would be. I gasp again before looking up at him.

His eyes twinkle at me in the darkness. The smirk on his face informs me that he knows every thought that passed through my mind in the last thirty seconds. A blush heats my cheeks and his smirks spreads to a youthful smile.

"Unless…" The intensity of his gaze causes me to lose my train of thought. "You…you somehow tweaked the Storybrooke Alert system last time…" August brings his face closer to mine and I can feel his breath on my lips. "…Last time you were in the station, which…" His nose brushes against my cheek before settling in the crook of my own. "Which…would be a…a complete violation of the rules."

"Well…" August's hands glide up my back. I shutter. I've forgotten the feel of his touch. Somehow, and without my permission, my own hands find their way to his chest. "You know me and rules."

"Yeah…" I say, although I have no idea what I am agreeing to. I lean into his nose and the tilt puts my lips right under his. Blinking, I manage to look at him before allowing my eyes to shut entirely.

His eyes are already closed and he is leaning further into me.

"Wait." I push against him and August jerks away from me. His hands lift from my back and his face retracts from my own. The warmth and safety of his touch is gone. Why did I stop him? Oh yeah... "You have to answer my questions."

His boyish grin returns, although I don't know why. He steps back, contented, as if my questioning him was in his plan. August crosses his arms and leans against the window molding. "Why?" He asks his infamous question.

I stomp my foot. August's grin widens. He watches me pull the keys to Granny's diner from my police keychain. I place it in the keyhole and turn the lock.

Everything is in its proper place. There is no sign of a disturbance. Even though I know it's a waste of time, I circled the diner and check for anything out of the ordinary.

"It's no use," August gives voice to my thoughts.

I turn to face him. His eyebrows are raised, wondering how long I am going to entertain the idea a real crime was committed here. "Why?" I try to mimic his innocent tone. "Are you the one who called in the crime?"

He stares at me straight-faced. "Very possible."

"Uh-huh," I nod and he breaks a smile. I watch him across the diner. He walks to sit at the counter and he spins his stool around with his arms spread out. I like him like this. He's a little mischievous, sure, but innocent all the same. Most important, I feel his happiness from across the room. Slowly I walk behind the counter, letting his immature decisions influence my behavior. "And what crime are you reporting?"

August flings his arms on the countertop to stop. He raises an index finger to me and then motions to the covered pie plate next to him. "You did not have your dessert with your dinner tonight. You were eyeing this pie all through dinner and yet, you did not order it. That, my Princess Emma, is a crime."

I purse my lips. He was here, watching me, while I ate dinner with my family? How could I not have noticed him? Usually I have my August-radar on so high that I turn whenever I see a man with black hair cross my path.

Since we have been apart, I have made a list of comebacks to throw back at him. I scroll down it in my head while another comeback forms. "Tell me, Mr. Booth," I lean on the countertop playfully, "Do you know that tricking a cop into breaking and entering with you is still a crime?"

August leans into the counter. When our noses threaten touching again, I pull back. The hunger is still in his gaze as we look at each other and I can't breathe.

"The only crime here," he reaches for the pie plate and starts unwrapping the tinfoil. "Is that you did not have your cherry pie this evening." August levels my gaze. "And I know that you have a thing for cherry pie."

I retreat from him. Cherry pie. He remembered. The memory flashes before my eyes at his insinuation:

_The rain came down in sheets that night. Past midnight already, I was already late for my shift at the diner – once again. _

_I saw his motorcycle headlight approaching me, but figured I'd run ahead of it since every minute I was late counted against me. _

_He stopped right before his tire ran over my boot. "Watch it!" I yelled at the motorcycle man who almost ran over my pregnant belly._

"_Sorry. I didn't see you." He said._

"_Well, next time," I continued yelling in the downpour. "Keep your eyes open." _

_Then we made eye contact and both froze._

"_Emma?" He whispered._

_I squint to attempt a better look at the man. He didn't look familiar…and yet even with the sheets of rain between us, I felt like I knew him. "Do we know each other?" _

"_No." He lied. There was an awkward pause between us. I wondered why I stood out there in the rain, pregnant, exposing myself to illness…but I knew somehow._

"_Did anyone ever tell you that you are a bad liar?" _

_Sighing, he took his helmet off. The rain instantly latched to his hair. "I'm not a liar," he told me._

"_Okay," I shrugged off his comment. Turning from him, my attention diverted to the diner two hundred feet away. The warmth of baked good lured me in its direction. I look back at him for some reason and that's when I knew I was in trouble. The depth of his blue eyes trips me forward. I remember thinking; even then, there was something magical about them. I didn't believe in magic, but I believed in his eyes. "Are you going to come in?" I hated myself for asking. "We have a cherry pie that's to die for." _

_He looked between the diner and me. He stopped to focus on my pregnant belly. "Oh, no…" He hesitated. "Thanks." _

"_Are you sure?" I can't believe I begged him to stay. "The cook claims his cherry pie is so good, it'll make anyone who tastes it believe in magic." _

"_Oh, really?" He teased and leaned forward on his bike. "And is this from personal experience?" _

"_Yes." I told him with confidence despite the fact I've never tasted it. _

_He laughed at me. Reaching for his helmet, he taunted me, "Who's lying now?"_

"_So…you do know me?" I clarified._

"_No," he lied again and motioned to my nametag. "I can read." _

_I looked down my rain-soaked dress and notice my name sown to it. By the time I look up again, he was gone. _

After that night I could always tell the difference between the truthful and the liars – the true and the fake.

August reaches for a plate behind the counter to serve me that last piece of cherry pie and places it between us. He looks down at the plate hoping to redirect my attention but all I can do is stare at him. "What do you say, Princess? You never can have too much magic in your life." He motions to the pie but freezes when he catches my intense gaze.

"You're the only one who can call me that…" I admit breathlessly.

August, still frozen, blinks. "Doc calls you that all the time."

"No." My chest tightens. My breaths shorten. "Not like you do."

"Yeah, well," August shrugs off the moment. "That's just because my social status is so low in this town I know better."

He draws me to him. "That's not why…" I whisper.

I wait for him to speak. He doesn't. To encourage him, I reach my palm to his cheek; my thumb strokes his moist skin. He closes his eyes to absorb my touch.

"You the only one who sees me, August." I remind him. "You're the only one who ever did."

I'm surprised when his head shakes in my palm. "That's not true…"

"Then what is?" I whisper and watch my thumb on his cheek. "Tell me what's true, Pinocchio."

He looks at me deeply. His longing scares me, but in a good way. The knots in my stomach tighten to the point where they could prevent me from breathing. Suddenly, I'm aware there's a countertop separating us. "The only truth I know is how much I love you." He takes a deep breath. "That's all I ever knew."

A tear forms behind my eye. I can't resist him anymore. I wrap my fingers behind his ear to pull him to me. His desire flows out of him the more we come together. I push myself further onto the countertop. Electricity buzzes between us. It takes forever for our lips to touch.

The light switch clicks on and I jump. Once I adjust to the brightness I see Ruby at the diner's back entrance. "Sorry!" Her eyes bulge and a blush colors her cheeks. "I heard a noise – and I didn't mean to interrupt – and -" her forehead creases, she motions to Granny's front door. "How did you get in here?"

The next two minutes are a blur to me. I regain the ability to think when I am halfway home. A cramp pulling my ribcage tells me how fast I ran away. "Emma!" August calls after me, but I can't answer. All I can do is turn a corner to hide from him – To hide from everything.

* * *

A/N: Wow! My reviewers are incredible! Thank so much for such detailed responses and high praises, they mean so much. The August/Emma fans are, hands down, the most thoughtful fans out there. I'm going to miss you guys.


	36. I'm Gonna Find My Way

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eight-Fifteen am: I'm Gonna Find My Way_

Anna shifts her position, stirring me awake beside her. On the morning of my wedding anniversary, the first image I see is my two girls lying beside me. Our daughter sleeps between Emma and me. I insisted on sleeping with her last night – the night of my return from my under sea adventure. Emma had other plans for my first night home. They were tempting. However, Anna was already asleep by the time we made it to her room and we didn't want to wake her. After listening to Emma describe her changed behavior in my absence, I knew I couldn't do anything until my daughter knew her father was safely home.

Emma flinches unconsciously in a way that lets me know she's about to awake. Excitement sparks through me and I consider moving to her side, but hesitate. After yesterday, I want Anna safely between us.

She blinks. Once. Twice. It takes a moment for her eyes to focus. Once she does, Emma smiles and whispers, "Happy Anniversary."

I press my lips into a smile. Slowly, I stretch my arm over Anna to intertwine my fingers with Emma. "You too."

Emma turns to her side and adjusts a strand of hair behind her ear. It's cute. I try to remember all the other times her small actions have made long for her even more.

"You know what?" Emma asks softy.

I replay other times her unconscious movements have made her more attractive to me: Shrugging her shoulders, the challenge in her eyes as she calls me on a lie, readjusting her hair strands around her tiara…

"What?" I whisper back.

"You don't snore without a nose. It's actually quite enjoyable." Her eyes sparkle the same way they always do when she makes fun of me. "I didn't think of that last night at the docks."

My insulted expression, whatever it looks like, makes Emma laugh out loud.

I sit up. "I never snored."

"Oh?" Emma acts amused. "Did I never mention that?"

"Emma, I don't snore."

She turns to me with a straight face despite the laughter in her eyes. "That's right. You don't."

"Thank you." I say and as I am about to fall back to my pillow she interrupts the action.

"Anymore!"

The bed creaks when I jump off it to run to Emma. Her laughter roars through the room. I feel her ribcage vibrate as I wrap my arms around her. She responds by reaching around my neck and continues laughing into my hair.

There are many nice ways to start an anniversary morning; many of them dirty – which can have its advantages – but starting the day with laughter seems like one of the best ways to me.

Emma's laughter soon fades. Her fingers smooth out the hairs on the back of my neck. Longing grows in her expression.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about my snoring?"

"I don't know," Emma whispers, still focusing on my neck. "I know how sensitive you are – were – about your nose."

"There is magic to heal snoring, you know," I tease her.

Emma loses the color in her cheeks. "There is?"

"Emma!" I shake my head. "What are we going to do with you? Aren't you the product of the most powerful magic around?"

Pride glows in Emma and she sits up straighter in my arms. Her hair falls off her shoulders and down her back. "Well, I was trying to say that maybe losing your nose is really a blessing in disguise."

I loosen my grip on her. "Do I seem like I need comfort about my nose loss?"

"No…"

"Did I seem hurt and upset about it last night?"

My wife rolls her eyes at me. She reminds me of the younger woman version of herself – the one I dated in Storybrooke. "No…"

"Huh." I note smugly. "So could your effort to comfort me really be directed at yourself?"

Pulling back a little, Emma thinks before answering – a skill she doesn't practice as much as she should. "I'm just saying – a husband no longer snoring – that's a pretty good anniversary present."

A little hurt, for some reason, I take a moment before responding. Her gift, the story I spent so much time writing and binding together flashes before me. "Okay. So much for the work I spent on your gift this year."

"The work?" Emma pushes on the mattress to bounce herself upwards. She reminds me of a kid begging for candy. "Did you build me something? Oooo -" Her eyes turn into saucers. "Did you carve me a cuckoo clock?"

I blink at her excitement. My smile fades with my double take. "A cuckoo clock? Don't you already have one of those…Yeah, I'm pretty sure you called it the most precious thing you own besides your baby blanket."

Emma lifts her palm out into thin air. "Right? So, doesn't that give you a great idea for a gift?" I shake my head in disapproval again. She scoots closer to whisper in my ear. "Plus, your father gave me that one, not you."

"Yeah," my tone stays unconsciously casual. "That is because he is a carpenter and I am a writer."

Emma releases me. I can practically see the wheels in her head click into gear, putting the pieces together.

_Shit._

"No…" Emma looks around the room. She takes her time circling back to me. We both are hesitant to make eye contact with one another. When we finally do, Emma continues in the same tone of disbelief. Tears form in her eyes and threaten to spill over. "…You didn't…"

I try to hide my smile and shrug innocently instead. "I guess you'll never know since solving my snoring problem was already named a pretty good gift…"

Emma clings onto me, her excitement growing. "Where is it?"

"It's right here." I sit up straighter and point to myself. "Your peaceful-sleeping, non-snoring husband."

Usually, Emma would roll her eyes at me. Some comment about my boastfulness would follow next. She is too impatient. Her grip tightens on my arm and she bounces on the bed again. "August, please. I want to read it."

"Read it?" I try to pull back from her. She doesn't let me. "You don't even know what it is."

Right then, Emma looses all her excitement. Her joyful expression is wiped off her face and replaced with a stony one. "Your blush gave you away, Pinocchio." She says in a neutral tone. "Now go get the book."

I fall sideways on the bed in surrender. Anna's still sleeping figure makes no notice of me.

She continues to pull on my arm like a child. "You are not tired, Mr. Hero." My heart melts at my new title. "Get up."

I close my eyes. "Can't we do this tonight when we're alone and romance is in the air?"

"No! I need to read it. I need to spend all day reading it." Huh. There's another nice way to spend an anniversary. "And then I can show you how much I loved it tonight."

I sit up. My eyebrows rise. Emma laughs.

"Interested?" She tries to sell her plan. I still look at her with suspicion. She takes my silence as an opportunity to persuade me more. "If you give it to me tonight, then I will have to read it then and I guarantee I will have no time to share my thoughts with you."

"Or…" I start slowly, knowing my suggestion will not go over well. "I could save it until next year like I suggested and you will have to accept the non-snoring husband as your only gift."

"And in that case," Emma keeps up with my banter. We haven't bickered in a while. It's nice. "You can spend tonight in here with your daughter instead of with me."

"I don't think threatening me is the right way to convince me to give you my gift."

"Okay, then," Emma concedes both with her words and her quieted actions. She leans in closer, "What way," she kisses my lips. "Is," she kisses my cheek. "The right," she captures my ear lobe. "Way?"

I stand. "Fine!" I cry out to Emma's victorious expression. I start digging in the bottom desk drawer. I put in between some old files…

"Wait." Emma looks around again. "You hid it in here? In our daughter's room?"

I love when Emma calls Anna our daughter.

I feel the binding…my fingers wrap around it. "Where else was I supposed to hide it?" I press the book to my back. "Are you sure you want me to give it to you now? Because there's no turning back once -"

"I'm sure." Emma surprises me with a small smile. The bounce in her legs seems to have disappeared. Her calm behavior is how I know she's truly ready.

I sit down next to her and take a deep breath. I place the leather-bound book on my lap. Once Emma sees it, she can't take her eyes off of it. Gently, I lift her chin up to mine. "I love you so much, Emma…"

Her gaze stays on the leather-binding. "Uh-huh," she mummers and reaches out.

I snatch it back. "No!" I cry out, somewhat offended. "We're not going to do it this way. You are going to let me say my peace before you read it."

Emma sags her head in disappointment but soon perks up. Our gazes collide and a genuine smile crosses her face. "Okay," she agrees.

"I-" I start my speech again but a knock on the door interrupts them.

"Hey!" Henry uses the door's molding to swing into the room. "Grace and I are off to Dad's."

"Okay," comes out of Emma's mouth, but I doubt she comprehend any of Henry's words, too wrapped up in her anticipation.

Henry scans over his sister's room and then focuses on me. "What, did Monstro bite off your nose or something?"

"Pretty much."

"Ah…Okay," he accepts my story and turns back to Emma. "Mom." Henry demands her attention and waits for it. Emma finally looks up at him. "I'm off to Dad's, I'll be back after dinner."

Emma digests his words and looses all interest in her anniversary gift. She brings her fingers to her forehead and drags them across it. Six months have passed since Bae was released from jail, eight months since Henry legally turned into an adult. I know Emma's worry surrounding the subject will never leave her. "Okay," she repeats with more clarity before Henry disappears down the hall.

Still frozen, Emma watches the door in a haze. I hesitatingly lower my hand onto hers.

Running footsteps down the hall prevent me from speaking again. Henry reappears in the doorway and Emma perks up again. "I almost forgot," he announces with a smile. "Happy Anniversary." He says before approaching her and kissing her cheek. "Congratulations."

Color returns to Emma's face. "Thanks, kid."

Henry smiles before leaving her gaze to give my shoulder a playful punch. "You too."

"Thanks." I say and he runs out the door.

I am still looking down the hallway, imagining Emma watching the doorway as well, when I feel her hand around my leg.

"Hey!" I protest, but she's already opening the leather cover.

"'Two Households of Dignity.' What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

What a great first reaction to something I've worked so hard on for her.

"That's why you read a story." I inform her. "To understand its title."

"HA!" Emma starts flipping through the pages. "Maybe that's why you read a book."

My fingers tighten around one side of the cover and threaten to pull it away. "If you are not going to be nice then you cannot read it. I poured my heart and soul into it."

She stops flipping through the pages. Only her eyes look up at me. "You're right. Sorry."

I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head, challenging her. Emma ignores the insinuation and goes back to my writing.

"You're supposed to start from the beginning-"

"Shhh!" Emma insists over me. "Be quiet."

Waiting for her reaction is killing me. My gaze drifts over the room before falling onto my daughter. Anna's breath plays with a black curl resting on her face.

"You did not win that game of BS." Emma announces. "I totally did."

"What-" I speak my thoughts before I process them. "Are you doing? You can't skip to the end!"

"Sure I can!" Emma retorts with a smile. "And you are a terrible liar."

I cross my arms. "I did not write that I won the game."

"You imply that you do!" Emma stands in anger. "I won that game."

"Never said you didn't."

"What else do you lie about in here?" Emma tackles me, pushing me further onto the bed. "August! Tell me!"

Anna wakes to her Mother's shrieks. "Loud!" She announces. Anna has never woken up talking before – at least not right away.

"Loud, Anna?" I run to her side of the bed and put my arms around her. She giggles. Her laugh is the most infectious laugh in the world. "Is Mommy being loud?"

All of a sudden, Anna stops to look at me. For a moment, we are the only two people in the world. She raises her finger to the woodchip on my face. "Wood." She whispers. Emma makes her way around the bed to watch. I don't dare move. I won't let anything ruin our moment. Anna moves her finger across my cheek. "Boy." She whispers another descriptive word. I see the tears flowing down Emma's cheeks out of the corner of my eye. I try to make eye contact with my daughter, but she won't let me. Instead, she leans down on my shoulder to give me a hug. There is no better feeling in the world. "Daddy," Anna says for the first time.

And that's when the tears start to flow down my cheeks.

There is no better feeling in the world than the one that name produces. Emma's 'Hero' has nothing on Anna's newest word.

Best. Anniversary. Ever.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys - I'm so sorry for the delay. I was horribly ill for a week and then I went on vacation. The good news is I had time to finish this update and the last one. I thought I'd give my loyal readers a choice - I can post the last update next Sunday, my usual update day, or sometime this week. What can I tease? Hmm - There are handcuffs and clocks and rings...Yeah - I think that's enough :-). _xoxo_


	37. Back To Your Side

The Wooden Swan Cuckoo Clock

_By Schroederplayspiano_

_Eight-Fifteen pm: Back To Your Side_

Ride-alongs and arrests in Emma's Sheriff car share many qualities. Emma's natural fragrance gives her guest a journey down a flowerbed of lilies rather than a reminder of the sticky, tight feeling one would have if they were to wear leather in a desert. Whenever I shared the front seat as Emma's guest, however, I never thought about how uncomfortable the plastic covering of the back seat would be. What I really didn't think about was the pain metal handcuffs would cause when between a person's back and the seat plastic, pressing into their skin…

"You know if you wanted some alone time with me, all you had to do was ask." I peek my head around Emma's headrest. "Arresting me for stealing – whatever that's code for - wasn't really necessary. Enjoyable. Dirty, even. But not necessary."

"You have a right to remain silent," Emma keeps her professional attitude as she talks to me in the mirror. "I suggest you use it."

For some reason, I do. Plenty of comebacks come to mind, but Emma's glaring expression – its source still a mystery to me – holds me back. The pain of handcuffs is nothing compared to my remorse at ruining our playful banter. We pass the police station and I'm surprised we don't stop.

"So, are we waiting for the metal handcuffs to completely tear up my skin or are you going to take me in eventually?"

"Depends…" Emma starts. I notice a slight smile in the rear-view mirror.

"On what?" I tease. She returns her focus to the road.

"On how good a boy Pinocchio decides to be tonight."

Piecing together more of her plans, I hint at my handcuffs, "Well, I'm a clearly at your disposal."

Emma shakes her head, amused. Our eyes lock in the mirror. Her expression softens in my gaze as I hold it. The "Welcome To Storybrooke" sign passes through the corner of my eye and I give it my full attention.

The sign ignites my banter again. "You do know you are not sheriff outside of town limits, right?"

"Doesn't mean I plan on taking your cuffs off anytime soon."

My breath catches, parting my lips. Emma witnesses my expression and smirks, satisfied, before focusing on the road again. She takes a familiar turn to the right and confirms our destination. The ring in my pocket digs into my thigh.

Like I didn't know where she was taking me.

The engine shuts off. I locate our tree, our special spot, out the window. Warmth fills my body, like it always does when I arrive here. It is the only place that connects us together. That tree is where our stories began – both together and apart.

Emma slams her door and walks around the car. Her heals click on the pavement. My stomach ties knots at the sound. It stops before she appears in the window, before she can let me out of my prison.

Something jolts the car forward. I realize it's the trunk opening before the wheels slide back into place. I try to turn around, to see whatever Emma is doing, but only hear her heals click twice more before they dig into the dirt.

She is carrying something to our tree! I crouch down to look lower in the window, searching for further clues, but all I see is a long box.

I straighten myself up when she makes it back to the car. Emma keeps her professionalism as she opens the door for me. It's hot. "On your feet."

I slide down the seat until my feet reach the cement and twist my hands in the handcuffs to stand. I turn to Emma behind the door and we both freeze. I loose myself in the depth of Emma's gaze for a moment too long. "Are we going to stand here forever or what?" I whisper.

She grabs my arm and her nails penetrate my skin. I gasp in aguish. She leads me down to our tree, replying, "Talking back to a police officer is not smart decision."

I smirk, "Well, I'm not known for making smart decisions, am I?"

Emma lightly throws me against our tree. I stumble but catch my balance before completely falling over. My hands, still pinned together, reach backwards to feel the bark behind me. "Okay, seriously, are the cuffs coming off or should I look forward to giving you grief for the deep cuts I'm bound to have?"

Still in the process of walking away from me, Emma sways her upper body from one side to the other. I watch Emma's curves sway as the hem of her shirt rises a few inches.

On second thought, being handcuffed against our tree isn't so bad after all.

Emma bites her lip when she turns back to me. It's cute. I've never seen her do that before. "I am not sure."

"Haven't planed that far ahead?" I take delight in teasing her.

She releases her lip. An offended look masks her features, but she quickly recovers. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I laugh. Any attempt I made to control or understand her intentions was a mistake. I lean back against our tree to show my submission but wince in pain. Putting any pressure on the metal handcuffs digs them further into my skin.

I look back at Emma and realize she was waiting for my attention. A blush quickly colors her cheeks as I met her gaze. She doesn't hold it. Instead of allowing us to lose ourselves in each other, she breaks our connection and steps forward to the box at her knees.

She opens the lid and reaches down to pull the object out, but soon stops. Emma crosses her arms. "I can't - " her face scrunches up and I'm afraid she might cry.

"Emma…"

Smoothing out her features, Emma puts on a sad smile through the tears behind her eyes. "I can't forgive you, August."

My chest tightens. I try to take a depth breath, but can't. "You shouldn't forgive me, Emma. What I did to you – the multiple things I did to you…they are unforgivable."

"No…" Emma stomps her foot in frustration. A tear runs down her cheek and she turns away. "That's not what I – You don't even know what I'm talking about."

I step towards her. With my hands around my back, I look like a polite little boy waiting for his turn to speak. We are able to connect for a moment before Emma tears away again. I whisper, "Since when are you afraid to call me out on my crap?"

Emma rolls her head back to me. Her arms cross to hold herself together. My heart swells for her. She matches my soft tone, "How could you loose faith in us?"

I blink. Shame fills me before I know what she's talking about. "Emma – I – I was messed up for a long time. This whole thing – whatever happened between us – it was all backwards. I should have figured out who I was before ever getting involved with -"

"No. Shut up!" Emma demands. Her edgy tone softens when she continues. "Just shut up, August. That wasn't the question."

I blink again. "Okay…."

"Us. This." She bends down to take the object out of its box. Our cuckoo clock appears; fixed, and polished, and beautiful. "How could you loose faith in it?"

Tears start falling down my cheeks. Without hands, I can't brush them away so they keep falling down. I don't know how to make them stop. "You fixed it…"

"Everything except the mechanics. Its parts still won't move. I need a professional to help me."

"Okay, well, I'm writer, but I'm sure I could help you fix it," I offer softly.

Emma falls apart at my offer. She lunges for me, wails marring her face. As soon as she reaches me, she starts pounding my chest. "How could – how could you – do that – destroy – my - clock – break – my – heart!"

I bow my head and turn into her. I hold against her shoulder and wait for her to calm down. Emma's movements soon mirror mine; her body presses against me.

We stay together for several minutes. She further leans into my chest, trying to catch her breath as she calms down. I soak up every part of Emma I can. The feeling is all I need. It's all I'll ever need.

"Reach in my pocket," I tell her.

Emma looks up at me. "What?"

"Just do it."

She waits for a minute; debating whether to listen to her heart or to her head. Emma looks at me with suspicion before her fingers find the ring box in my pocket. I swear I can feel Emma's heart stop when she puts the velvet box in her flat palm.

"I never lost faith in us," I whisper, my confidence growing. "I just got lost in my own insecurities and I'm sorry, Emma. Breaking your clock broke my heart just as much as yours, I promise you."

"You had this – in your pocket – before I arrested you."

"Emma," my voice cracks. "I've carried your ring in my pocket– ever since I called you into Granny's that night."

Emma freezes. Her focus stays on the box. "That was three months ago. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I needed to wait until you were ready."

"Well," Her limbs still frozen, Emma lifts her gaze to mine. "How unselfish of you."

Despite her lighter tone, I stay serious. "You always brought out the best in me."

Emma whispers, "August…" and looks back down at the ring box.

"I am so in love with you, Emma." I take a step closer to her, my heart rate increasing. She feels me next to her and redirects her attention. Her cheek brushes against mine. The heat from her blush warms my skin as her nose goes into crook of my own. I inhale before pouring my heart out. "I want to grow old with you and have babies with you and stand on the sidelines, watching you mature into the princess you are, saving the rest of the enchanted forest. I want that with you. I'm sure that's selfish on some level, but I think not telling you is selfish too -"

"It is selfish," A tear slides down her cheek. "And you had about a minute before I was going to kill you if something like that didn't come out of you mouth."

If it's possible, I lean further into her. My upper lips brushes against hers. I whisper into her mouth, "Emma…"

She stomps her foot. The earth's vibration puts space between us. Quickly, she blurts, "Why else would I take you to an abandon woods-"

I smirk. Emma is perhaps, the cutest when she is frustrated. If my hands were free, I would glide them up her cheeks and thread them through her hair.

Emma puts her free hand on my cheek while the other tightens around the ring box. She caresses my skin with her thumb before speaking. "I love you." She tells me. Her declaration releases whatever tension is left in my body. "And I need you with me, wherever I am." Emma's fingers slide into my hair. "But not on the sidelines watching me. With Me. I can't be the Princess I need to be – or want to be -without you. You taught me that and I –"

"Marry me." I can't hold it in any longer.

She releases me and steps back as if in shock. "What?"

I tilt my head to the side. I don't need to repeat my words.

Her rant follows my implication. "What the hell was that? You can't just say 'Marry me' – expecting me to just give into your demands. I am a royal princess, for goodness sake. Don't you think I deserve better than that? I only plan on doing this once, so don't you think your proposal should be accompanied by flowers and rainbows and you on one knee and some sort of magical -"

I step in between her two feet, invading her comfort zone and cutting her off. "Marry me." I demand again. She tilts her head and smiles. Emma will never admit it, but I know her well enough to know the proposal she just described would make her sick. "And let me out of these handcuffs so I can kiss you properly."

Emma ignores me and opens the ring box before I have a chance to do it for her. Her reaction is even better than I thought. Sliding the ring on her finger jumpstarts her whole body. Her eyes sparkle, her skin glows, her grin spreads across her face.

But the joyful picture of Emma is gone before I know it. She spreads out her arms and lunges for me again, this time with laughter. Her lips capture mine with a strength I've never felt before. Her hands are everywhere; my neck, my cheeks, my hair, my chest, before they intertwine in my own behind my back.

A familiar noise interrupts my focus on my future wife. I open my eyes briefly when our fingers lock to find its source.

It's there, in the middle of our special spot, still seated on a cardboard box. Reenergized by true love's kiss; a wooden swan comes out of Snow White's highest tower and honks to announce the top of the hour.

* * *

A/N: _Somewhere in time, in the deep folds of space, a former puppet thinks he knows how lucky he is to have his princess beside him. But, really, it's his princess who is the lucky one._

This story, in its completion, would not exist without four people: Aod4L, SnowandJames4eva, Keli Macguire, and Anna kept this story going. When I felt discouraged or frustrated about starting or working on a chapter their demands for an update, their enthusiastic analysis of my writing (especially Anna - wow!) kept me going. Everyone's analytical reviews meant the world to me and help me become a better writer. Thank you for the thought you put into my story. Like I said before, WoodenSwan fans have the most the depth, the most attention to detail that I've seen. What an honor to be among you. Thank you, truly. Writing for WoodenSwan will be an experience I won't forget. Chapter titles come from Mat Kearney's _Ships In The Night_. **I love you guys. _xoxo._**


End file.
